


Luck Of The Draw

by nvzblgrrl



Category: One Piece
Genre: Swearing, makes the fact that they swear like sailors a matter of course, which considering the characters are mostly pirates and thus sailors
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-12
Updated: 2016-09-03
Packaged: 2018-06-07 21:54:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 39,357
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6825967
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nvzblgrrl/pseuds/nvzblgrrl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Cliffhanger, dun dun duuun.</p><p>Luffy's POV was the hardest to get into because there's uncomplicated and there's bone stupid - no shots intended at a certain musician - and Luffy's closer to the first than the second.</p><p>I wasn't entirely sure where I was going to go with the fight scenes, but hopefully there will be smooth sailing from here on to the end of the Baratie arc.</p>
        </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

There's a checklist for One Piece self-insert fics.

Enter world, retaining consciousness of previous reality.

Ticky box, check. I was in Loguetown, East Blue, at some time before Hurricane Luffy was due to hit, because Smoker was still present in all his second hand lung cancer glory, distinctly not bitching about a certain rubber limbed pirate.

Acquire the powers of awesomeness without any real effort, aka Devil Fruits, Haki, Rokushiki, magical girl powers, other assorted depending on how viciously you wish to defile the canon.

Ticky box, check. I'd eaten a Paramecia fruit – fucking Sketch Sketch fruit, what the fuck – like the dumbass I am. Thankfully, the powers weren't hopelessly niche like Luffy's, but I certainly wasn't going to have something as stupidly flexible as Doflamingo's.

Join Straw Hat / Heart / Red Hair / Whitebeard / INSERT CREW HERE Pirates.

Ticky box blank. Ticky box hopefully stay blank, though the moment Luffy asked me – 'if' was the key word here, but I was the idiot who could bring drawings to life, so of course he's going to fucking ask –, I was entirely certain that I'd never escape.

Entering their orbit wouldn't be disastrous – heck, I was counting on it to figure out where the hell I was in the story – but joining wasn't exactly something I was going to put on my Christmas list.

Attain the love interest.

Ech. Ticky box blank. Tick box can stay blank. I don't know for sure if that's even my kind of deal, because I've never even thought about real interactable people that way. Maybe? Who even knows. The series was delightfully hands off on the subject, though there was more than enough to be annoyed with in other places.

I sighed and leaned back against the brick wall of a building before snorting. I'm a doodle human. Pfft. Like I wasn't already. Now it's just a superpower that requires prep time and art supplies. The fact that I was in possession of pretty much the exact same Devil Fruit I'd given the Mary Sue I had cooked up when I was fourteen wasn't lost on me either.

Oh, the universe and its kooky sense of humor. I wondered if any other of my less glamorous and long deleted ventures into self-indulgence would come back to bite me in the ass.

Maybe my mad scientist Hogback-hanger on would tase me if I ever ended up on Thriller Bark. Maybe Mercy D. Witt would kick me face first into a building while dressed like Lupin the Third.

Oh, sure, there was a three point five chance that my life wouldn't be shit, but this was _**me**_ I was talking about.

Things were going to go to shit at some point and, if you were standing in the right place, it was going to be hilarious.

In spite of the universe's propensity to pour its boiling hot coffee over my head, I had a plan. Like the smartest plans, it's simple, flexible, and not so shiny that I can't throw it away the moment it becomes untenable.

My plan had three steps.

Step one, make some money.

Step two, get to the Baratie.

Step three, confirm position on timeline.

Yes, that was the plan. Depending on what I found out, I would make other plans.

If Sanji was on the Baratie without any sign of the Straw Hats, I would have a nice meal and go back to Loguetown and either wait for chaos to come my way or pull together enough funds to rinse and repeat.

If Sanji and the Straw Hats were on the Baratie, I would have a nice meal and probably get caught up in Krieg's nonsense. Then, depending on other factors, end up part of a pirate crew or heading back to Loguetown.

If the Baratie was in a damaged state and the Straw Hats absent, I would ask if it was possible to place an order and, if so, I would have a nice meal and return to Loguetown.

If the Baratie was undamaged yet sans a certain sous-chef, I'd have a nice meal and return to Loguetown. This seemed like the least likely outcome, since Smoker was still in town, but hey. Hedge all bets.

Any way you slice it, I get a top class dinner. It's a win-win-win.

Unless I get caught up in the Krieg mess and die.

Hm.

I think I'll take that as motivation to keep filling my sketchbooks.

But back to the plan.

The Baratie is a popular place despite the roughness of the staff. It's popular enough to justify it being a stop for a Lougetown-based East Blue ferry service.

But, naturally, a ferry ticket costs money. As does a seat at a five-star ship-based restaurant.

So, step one.

Make some money.

* * *

Street art is an old and ancient practice. This does not mean the cops accept it.

"No, I do not have a license," I said for the third time, any remnant of nervousness washed away by my eternal hatred of 'The Man'.

The Marine looked less than impressed. "You need to purchase a license before street trading-"

Selling doodles that I cook up in literal minutes counts as 'street trading'. Incredible. "I'm doing this because I don't have any money."

"You need a license."

"And this license costs money, right? Money that I don't have?"

"Yes."

Bureaucracy at its finest. I fought the urge to face palm. "So basically, if I'm not working, I'm a layabout and an idler, but if I try to use my skills to earn money honestly, I'm in violation of local ordinance?"

"Exactly."

Ugh. I force a pleasant smile and my voice into a sickly sweet service industry pitch. "Is panhandling against the law also? Just so we can skip another repeat of this situation. I'm sure you have better things to do with your time."

"Yes. Thank you for your consideration." With that, the Marine turned sharply on his heel and continued down the street.

I adjusted my glasses before rummaging through my spread out supplies, each drawing finding its way back into my sketchbooks and each pencil sneaking its way back into the pockets of my satchel. Organize, organize, tidy, tidy.

Every doodle is a potential weapon, another card up my sleeve. I'm not in a position where I can lose a single one without some kind of return, monetary or otherwise. And like hell I'm going to get arrested for littering.

I ignore the feeling of someone watching me until I hear measured steps – heavy, combat boots, big guy with long legs – slow and stop in front of me. I smell smoke, the kind of tobacco saturation that takes me back to an old, small town diner in the years before no-smoking was the rule rather than a concession.

I dip my head in deference, face hidden beneath the brim of my hat. No eye contact, no face to be memorized. Polite, pliant, and silent. That's what authority likes.

The sensation of inspection vanished as the measured steps resumed, this time away from me. He's seen what he's needed; a homeless person with no desire for trouble.

While I don't like the breakdown, it's not so far off the mark. Social anxiety, a trained fear of authority… Once I'm comfortable, and realize that I'm talking to people and not the faceless, nameless murder entity that my anxiety keeps screaming about, I'm funny. Sarcastic. Witty.

It just takes a bit. And people who don't register as authority.

I sighed as I finished packing up my stuff. While I probably could do a decent profit using my powers to do a street side song and dance, the attention it would wasn't worth it. Devil Fruits are flashy and, most importantly, unique. You couldn't show off those powers without providing the world with the means to ID you for the rest of your life.

Okay, maybe it would work in the boondocks where the locals had no idea what the hell kind of witchcraft you just busted out, but anywhere where the locals possess a modicum of common sense? No sell, even if you dressed it up like something else.

I stood up and started down the street. No particular destination was fixed in my mind, though my general path was towards the docks. Marine presence was looser towards the outskirts, meaning I just might be able to turn a quick buck there with my doodles. Or that I just might get mugged. Equal opportunities for good and bad to be had here.

Considering that Loguetown had not only overtaken nearly all of its original island, but was beginning to spread out into the ocean in places as people started taking architectural notes from Venice… or Water Seven, considering the world that I was in… the uneven saturation of Marines made sense.

It just wasn't practical to be everywhere at once, and it was probably only thanks to Smoker and his hardline ways that the patrols were as tight as they were now. Still, criminals still eked out an existence along the shadows.

"Hey! Watch it!"

I glanced up at the sound of a fight taking place on a higher level. I didn't see anything but the black suitcase that slammed me to the ground, face first.

"You fool, you lost the loot!"

"Me?" another voice screeched, "You're the one who threw it at me!"

"You shouldn't have dodged! That beri is coming out of your portion!"

"What? That was all the loot, you fuck up! Your portion included!"

"Fuck you!"

A gunshot rang out. I jumped to my feet, suitcase clutched to my chest.

"You stupid motherfucker! You'll call the Marines right down on us!"

"Already here," I heard Smoker growl from above.

I didn't hang out long enough to find out if there was a Marine version of the Miranda Rights, scuttling into the shadows and through the maze of streets towards the docks.

As soon as I had found an empty alley, I'd stopped to inspect my prize. I hadn't expected much. Maybe a few thousand at the tops. Certainly nothing close to the prize the Straw Hats had lost in Water Seven.

I was simultaneously right and wrong. Five hundred thousand beri had quite literally fallen into my hands.

The conversion rates between beri and American dollars hadn't quite solidified in my mind, but five hundred thousand is a very big number. Hell, I had just blown about two thousand on art supplies and it still wasn't quite real to me.

I'd ditched the suitcase, obviously. The shiny black lacquer stood out too much against my dull brown-grey-yellow-red color scheme and I preferred my hands free anyway. The money was sorted, small change – or what passed for small change in my beri-illiterate mind –in my pockets while the larger bills were tucked into a secure inner pocket of my satchel.

Down at the docks – the respectable, civilian docks, not the rough areas where pirates and other ne'er-do-wells arrived to the welcoming handcuffs of Smoker and his men –, I browsed the various ferry schedules.

Most were long term things, week long voyages that traced the far edges of East Blue. Cheaper than buying a ship and going through the process of learning all the relevant skills from scratch, I imagined, but not what I was looking for…

Ah!

There it was. 500 beri and four hours – the board had a small note saying 'approx.' and 'two-way' – for the Baratie.

I smiled, internally clapping my hands together. Yay for one of my plans actually coming through.

On to step two.

About an hour into the ferry ride the smile slid off my face.

I was going to a nice restaurant. What if they had more than one fork? What if I had to pick the right wine to go with whatever I ordered? I don't know that kind of stuff. I don't even drink.

I am not prepared.

Oh god.

* * *

**Sanji –**

* * *

The Baratie was a five star restaurant, widely respected as one of the finest in East Blue. While walk-ins weren't uncommon – rather, the unpredictability of the sea, even in the relatively sedate East Blue made such a concept as 'reservations' unfeasible –, lone costumers were. The very nature of sailing called to teamwork, and anyone who knew the reputation of the restaurant and was willing to go that far out of the way for their food almost always came with company.

But there one was, quietly stepping in through the door and shyly asking if a reservation was necessary.

I traced the path of the young lady as she followed Patty to a small table near a window. Cute, brunette, short wavy hair, cute, glasses, shy – just look at the way she searched the room for a friendly face, it was adorable –, and did I already say cute? Well, it never hurt to think it twice.

But the young lady was clearly not Patty's type of clientele, not with the way that she was subtly cringing away from his unconvincing 'the customer is king' act. I snuffed my cigarette and with the same motion, plucked a menu from the holder near the register.

Time for Prince Charming to rescue a princess from a troll.

* * *

Coming to the Baratie was feeling like a mistake, despite it being the most important part of my three step plan to figuring out exactly what was going on.

Sure, plan was going alright – the patched hole in the roof and the sight of one Straw Hatted chore boy told me exactly where I was –, but the Baratie was a crowded place that came with standards and I was alone. Things are weirder when you're alone. Have a group of friends? Standards are much lower priority, as evidenced by the absolute madness going on over at the Straw Hat table, So much more comfortable, but also so much not happening right now.

I could feel the eyes on me, analyzing, finding me wanting…

I'd be more comfortable if I could wear my hat, scarf, and coat, but that's one of those restaurant taboos. No outerwear indoors. Just me; alone, exposed, and having a minor crisis.

Which is not being helped by Patty's entire violation of personal space routine or the creepy, plastered-on smile he's wearing while doing it. I was trying to look at anything but him, but staring at other costumers was rude. Damned if I do, damned if I don't. Damnation, damnation, an eternity in anxiety hell –

"Is this guy bothering you, miss?" a smooth voice – too smooth, the sort of articulation that precedes a pick-up line or a vicious putdown – cut in, followed by the light scent of tobacco. Not the overwhelming cloud that followed Smoker around Loguetown, but a thin reed of scent that brought back different memories. Waiting for absent parents outside school with the other unwanted kids, fellow weirdos and rejects who had their own habits. Smoking, hacky sack, and talking – grousing – about the latest whatever. Music, movies, manga…

I draw my mind out of reminiscence mode and I spare Sanji – couldn't be anyone else but him – a glance.

His hair's different. Ashy blonde, rather than the bright duck yellow I was half expecting, and against a light tan that hadn't ever materialized in the anime, the pale color stood out even more. What I didn't expect at all was the fact that he looks – and sounds, oh my god – like the bastard child of Leonardo DiCaprio and Steve Buscemi… with his own legendary swirled eyebrows attached.

Stevenardo DiSchemi.

Oh my god.

"Sanji!"

"I wasn't asking you, Patty." Sanji's visible eye slid back to focus on me and his expression slipped smoothly into what he probably thought was a suave smile. It half was. "How may I assist you, miss?"

Put on the spot, I flinched and broke eye contact again, "Ah, I… ah… I was hoping to place an order?" I asked hopefully. Potential professional pirate here. Totally capable of letting people know I mean business. This isn't going to hell _at all_.

"Well, this is a restaurant after all… Patty, don't you have other customers to poison?"

Patty's temper was near tangible as he slowly turned to leave. "Go fu- dge yourself. Yeah, go fudge yourself, Sanji," There was a final muttered, "shitty sous chef," before the cook vanished into the kitchen.

Sanji ignored him, instead handing me my menu gracefully. "What's a lovely young lady doing dining alone?"

Spying. Making a fool of myself. "Personal treat," I said with a little smile, "I haven't been having the best week, so I figured I'd dip into my funds a bit and have a top class meal."

That seemed to be the exact right thing to say to take the suave smirk a notch towards something brighter. "Well, you came to the right place, so long as I can keep Patty away from your plate."

"I heard that, jackass!"

Sanji ignored him. "So, anything catch your eye?"

The prices, the presence of French, which I can't read, and even more stuff I – coming from a family where Applebee's counted as fine dining – cannot even imagine. "Ah… I don't know what to possibly pick. What do you recommend, Sanji?"

"Well, I happen to know that there is a wonderful soup on today's menu," he answered in what might have been a playfully conspiratorial tone, "one that the sous chef himself prepared –"

A glass smashed dramatically and a wave of terror washed over the restaurant. Of course shit would start the moment I sat down for dinner. Fucking –

"There's a battleship coming this way! And it's flying Krieg colors!" someone yelled.

The room practically exploded into panic as customers scrambled for the exits and whatever else passed for 'safety' on the high seas. The cooks pooled into the main floor, panicking over the imminent arrival of one of the most feared men in East Blue.

Sanji was nowhere to be seen.

I sighed and pulled out a sketchbook and flipped open to an unfinished drawing. So much for lunch.

* * *

**Sanji –**

* * *

The sensation of imminent disaster was as thick as the fog around the Baratie, but I had a responsibility as a cook to attend to first. Soup for the young lady – the bowl was already in my hand – and then the pirates.

If they were in as bad shape as Gin had been when he'd limped through the front door, they'd be here for food as well. Being pirates, they would be able to pay and, if they were smart, they would.

Unless Patty or one of the other hotheads decided to get ahead of themselves and start a fight.

Hopefully they wouldn't be that stupid. Krieg had a reputation and a reputation didn't come around without something behind it, even if the man wasn't in top form.

Almost as an afterthought, I added a bit of garnish to the soup. A splash of color without much substance, but with a clear broth soup, it was an important touch.

The soup was probably the cheapest item on the menu, save for maybe a glass of water or the breadsticks, but one didn't mention 'dipping into my funds' and 'personal treat' when they were rolling gold.

Maybe I'd give her something else that was a little more substantial for free. It'd be pushing the line a bit with Zeff, pulling that while giving Nami – wonderful, beautiful sunset goddess Nami – free meals for the last week, but the girl – oh, crap, I don't even know her name – was so cute.

Well, all girls were cute – that was a simple fact of the universe – but still, there was a cute girl depending on me! That was enough to get any red-blooded male fired up.

I walked back out into the dining area, ignoring the overturned furniture and sudden absence of customers. It happened with the softer crowds, if the pirates coming in had a reputation, and the fact that it was the Krieg Pirates coming in had only made more leave.

The girl was still there though, a sketchbook in front of her as she occasionally stole glances out of the window. Her attention snapped to me – I hadn't been that loud, had I? – as I came closer to the table.

"Your soup, my lady."

She blushed slightly as she pushed her sketchbook across the table. "Sorry. I... need to do something with my hands when I'm anxious."

"Oh, there's absolutely no problem with it. We have worse behaved cooks manning the kitchen, believe me." I looked at the drawing, seeing the sweep of a black serpent with only the tiniest crescents of glittering gold, blue, and silver ink etched scales – gel pens? Cute! – giving away the three-dimensionality of the subject. "You're very talented, miss…?"

"I practice," she said with a shrug before blinking, "um, I'm… you can call me Laine."

She took a sip of my soup and I stopped thinking about pirates and names and cute.

I didn't breathe.

She looked up at me and smiled.

"It's delicious."

Yes! Yes yes yes yes yes! Take that, shitty geezer. A cute girl likes my cooking! Not that other cute girls didn't like my cooking to begin with, but she liked my own, carefully developed over the years of you kicking my ass for every mistake, recipe!

Can you smell that, you old ass-cracker? That's the sweet stench of victory!

"Hello? Earth to Sanji? Are you alright?" the girl- Laine, Laine! – asked. Ah, what a cute frown!

I spun in place again– oh wait, I was doing that already? Huh, victory was more exciting than I'd thought it would be. "I'm absolutely fantastic, my lady, with your praises ringing upon my humble ears–"

"Sanji! Stop flirting already!" Zeff snapped from the staircase, "The Krieg Pirates are about ready to knock on the door! The least you can do is help pull up the welcome wagon."

Fucking- "I'm on it! Shitty geezer." I turned back to Laine with a smile, "I'll protect you from the pirates, miss!"

"Worry about yourself before me," she replied, that cute frown still on her face, "You can't afford to get distracted during a fight for your life."

Such concern! Cute!

* * *

I don't think he heard a word I said.

I fought the urge to facepalm, instead picking up my soup bowl to slurp down the delicious broth.

So much for manners, I thought, wiping my mouth before I pulled my sketch book back towards me and drew in the last details of the snake. There were other finished drawings, but this one just felt the best. Fight a poisoner with poison.

Outside my small window, the Krieg Pirates' sole remaining ship ground to a halt.

I was half tempted to whistle. Mihawk had done a number on it – one stroke had nearly bisected the ship near the prow, though the thing was just barely hanging together –, though there was other damage that couldn't possibly be from a sword. They had to escape through the Calm Belt, if they'd been coming from the Grand Line, so maybe there was damage from Sea Kings.

Or maybe Mihawk had done all of it and I simply was incapable of wrapping my mind around what a skilled swordsman was really capable of unleashing.

Maybe it was like cutting steel, except instead of listening to the metal, you listened to the wind, finding the exact angle to catch the air so the pressure could be turned into a thrown stroke. Wasn't that how the Wind Scar was explained?

Any thoughts on the subject of swords and anime physics were shoved to the back of my mine as a huge thump echoed through the restaurant. Metal jangled before being followed by another heavy thump.

Jangle.

A dragging noise.

Thump.

Jangle.

Drag.

Thump.

Footsteps. Big man, bigger than Smoker, heavier than sin, but tired. Unable to pick up their feet all the way, instead dragging their soles to the next step.

Krieg wore armor. Heavy steel armor, loaded with weapons and other dirty tricks. He was too stupid – or too paranoid – to take it off, even though he was literally on the edge death by of starvation and dehydration. Considering that he was here to start shit, maybe it wasn't so stupid, but the entire set up was idiotic on his part.

His men would require days, if not weeks, of care to be in any kind of fighting shape, his only path of retreat was unwieldy, and there were too many unknown factors to account for.

Yes, Krieg was one of the strongest pirates currently in East Blue. But that was because he strategized. He manipulated expectations. He took blatant advantage of the rules of combat.

Logically, the fact that he had that reputation for playing dirty meant that any response would gradually grow less and less lenient until the fist of the Marine over-watch came down to squash him like the metal-plated bug he was, regardless of any white flag the man might raise.

One on one didn't suit the man.

But Krieg did seem the kind of moron to believe his own hype. He'd start shit, try to establish what little edge he had over the Baratie crew.

I continued inking my drawing, quietly pushing my power into it as I went.

Given the privilege of future knowledge – useless as it might soon become – I wouldn't be caught off guard.

The pen nib squeaked and the drawing twitched.

Shh. Not yet.

* * *

**Sanji –**

* * *

A sucker punch.

Stupid, stupid, stupid.

I shouldn't have expected less from a man named 'Foul Play'.

Did I regret feeding the man? No. I knew what it was like to starve. To feel death raking its bony fingers up and down your insides as your body burnt itself up just to keep it at bay for another minute. I wouldn't let another person suffer that, even if they were the worst creature in the world.

But – the thought was echoing through my mind as Krieg drew his fist back, the world slowing to a molasses crawl – I really should have taken a step back.

Stupid.

Something black flashed out of the corner of my eye before shooting past me. It wrapped around Krieg's arm, a long black tail – scales, smooth blue-black scales that shone gold and silver at the edges – pushing me back as it wound its way up the pirate's arm, its head rearing back next to Krieg's head to show a mouthful of needle fangs.

Gin stared, as surprised by the sudden appearance of the snake as I was. "Krieg, you said you wouldn't…"

Krieg sat frozen, only his eyes moving as they panned the length of the massive snake coiled around his arm, its own unblinking eyes – molten orbs of gold and silver that would have glowed in the dark– locked on his face.

"I say a lot of things, Gin." the pirate growled between his teeth, not looking away from the snake, "You've served under me long enough to know better." The fingers of Krieg's free hand twitched.

The snake had been thrown. What the hell kind of person threw snakes at people? Not that I wasn't appreciative for the intervention, but still. Snakes? Where had it even come from?

"I'd suggest leaving slowly and peacefully, Krieg," Zeff said levelly, apparently unimpressed by the fucking ten foot serpent that had deadlocked the entire room, "Pirate armada or not, I don't think manpower counts for shit against the venom of a Grand Line snake."

"Yes," Laine said from where she stood right beneath the stairs, light glinting off her glasses, "that's just one of the incredibly deadly vipers known to inhabit the first half of the Grand Line. The process is rather slow and painful, as you see, it paralyzes every muscle, including the diaphragm, while insuring that you retain awareness throughout the entire ordeal."

Wait, why was she explaining it?

"Can you imagine that?" Zeff continued calmly, "In case you don't speak medical, that means you stop being able to breathe on your own. You get to suffocate slowly, completely aware of your impending death without any hope of doing anything about it. Some end for a wannabe king, eh?"

A bead of sweat dripped down Krieg's forehead. "Call it off," he growled between his teeth.

"I'm sorry?" Laine asked.

The snake flicked its tongue – silver, bright white flashing silver – into Krieg's ear.

"I said, call it off!" Krieg said louder, "I'll leave peacefully!"

The snake uncoiled with liquid smoothness, the lights playing gold-blue-black-silver across its scales as it slithered across the white tiles. The other staff jumped back from it as it wound its twisting path to coil in a lazy loop around my feet, molten eyes still staring down the pirate it had kept from knocking my block off.

The hell kind of snake was this?

Krieg took a shaky step back before steadying and gazing around thoughtfully. "This is a nice ship, even if it does have a pest problem. I think I'll take it. It's your choice, old man," Zeff looked up, with his permanent 'you talking to me, y'little shit?' scowl still etched on his face, "whether it's as a gift or spoils of war."

He fixed his gaze on me, ignoring the snake at my feet. "And you. You're a bleeding heart weakling, but I can use you. I've got one hundred men still breathing, all about to drop dead from hunger and dehydration. You feed and water them, I just might overlook your disrespect and let you and your little friends live."

The disrespect of saving you from starvation without the expectation of repayment. The disrespect of not receiving your generous punch to the head. The disrespect of being defeated by a wild animal.

The snake slithered up my leg, around my waist, and over my shoulder, not in the stranglehold that it had put on Krieg, but just in a loose coil, ready to strike should the pirate get any other brilliant ideas about sneak attacks.

I'd preferred it if my guardian angel had been a beautiful lady on pearly white wings, but there was a saying about beggars and choosers.

I tucked my hands into my pockets and turned my back on the pirates.

"Hey, where do you think you're going?" Patty asked.

"To the kitchen." I pulled a cigarette out of my pocket and lit it. "I've got one hundred men to feed."

There would have been more resistance to that, I think, if not for the snake casting glances around from its place on my shoulder. If it's as deadly as Zeff and Laine say, they're right not to want to aggravate it, but somehow, I doubt it.

As soon as I cleared the kitchen door, the snake unraveled, pooling into a black pile right at the edge of the threshold, eyes watching me as I moved between the stations.  
"You're pretty smart for a reptile," I remarked as I packed up the first set of bento, "Are you secretly the devil in disguise, here to collect the souls of Krieg and his lackeys?"

It didn't say anything, only the slightest flicker of its silver tongue moving against the inky black of its scales.

"You're welcome to it. After they're fed, I couldn't care less."

Silence, save for the sound of my own work.

"Does that seem cold? I don't think you're in a position to judge, being a snake."

The snake hissed.

"Yeah, yeah. It's two-faced, but even if I can't stand to let someone starve, I'm not going to let Krieg shit all over the old man's treasure. I owe him too much for that." I twisted the frying pan in my hands around, flipping the rice over in a single clean movement. Years spent in this very kitchen mastering that little trick. "I'll save their lives and end them in the same day if it comes down to it."

The last bento finished, I packed them up in a sack.

The snake watched me leave, still silent as it waited.

Under the gaze of everyone present, I set the bag down in front of Krieg and flicked the ash off the end of my cigarette.

"Here's your order. Food for a hundred men. Now fuck off."

* * *

Once Krieg ducked out of the restaurant doors – his words were 'temporary period of grace' but that was poor cover for the fact that he'd cut and run – leaving Gin behind, trembling on the floor, I let the tension run out of my shoulders. A momentary reprieve and slightly less damage done than I remembered, all thanks to a properly placed snake.

Krieg might have suspected that I had something to do with it, and Zeff almost certainly knew – the old guy had gotten far enough through the Grand Line to call the first half 'Paradise' without the use of a Devil Fruit, there was no way an upstart like me was going to trick him with a 'mystery spring loaded snake' – but otherwise, nobody else had an inkling on the true origins of my Inkling –

"Hey, did you see that cool snake?"

Fucking –

I jerked back from Luffy – dammit, it would be Luffy –, who was hanging over the railing, big brown-black eyes staring deep into my soul like… like that was an acceptable way of saying 'hello'. For all I know, that is the traditional Monkey family greeting. Besides eating other people's food, breaking through various important parts of buildings, and getting into fist fights.

Really, the staring was probably the best of the possible options here – wait, this was conversation time.

"Y-yeah. I did. It was very… snaky."

Perfect dismount. Ten for ten landing. Totally didn't sound like Coby 2.0.

"Oh." Luffy blinked at me owlishly as he turned his head around at angles impossible for anyone that wasn't made of rubber. "I thought it was your snake."

Fucking dammit you're not that observant, I call bullshit – "It seems to be Sanji's snake now," I said levelly.

"But it was your snake, wasn't it?"

Goddamn motherfucking Zeff is everyone going to push my stress buttons with this sneaking up on me from behind thing going to be a running gag or what – "Can I help you or is this 'Give Someone A Heart Attack' day?" I asked sharply.

"Work on your situational awareness and you won't get scared by people breathing," Zeff said, folding his arms over his chest. "Just because I played along with your act doesn't give you a free pass to bring wild animals onto my ship."

I sighed, flipping open my sketchbook. "It's not a wild snake. I made it." I pulled a doodled sparrow from the page, the small watercolor picture becoming a full-sized bird in the palm of my hand. "Devil Fruit. Tastes like regret, works like magic."

The avian Inkling shook itself, puffing out like a dandelion before giving a small peep.

Luffy clapped his hands, eyes sparkling at the display. "So cool! Do a robot!"

"Later." I placed the bird back on the paper and shut the sketchbook, returning the drawing back to its usual 2D reality. "Anything I can imagine and put to paper, I can create. Such is the power of the Sketch Sketch whatever."

"Cute," Zeff said flatly, "instead of a wild animal, there's a Devil Fruit creation made of ink and other inedible crap in my kitchen. It better not make a mess, kid, or you're going to be bussing tables for a year."

I gestured, and the black streak of my ink snake wound its way over to the register to coil on a small shelf, silver tongue darting out to blow a raspberry at the old chef. "Not in the kitchen, old man."

"Smartass. Backbone takes a minute to materialize with you, does it?" He made a sound that registered halfway between a cough and a barking laugh.

Fuck you and your being right. I can see where Sanji gets his bitchy side. "We can pick at the flaws in my personality after we get the tin plated asshole off your porch, alright?" I said, "I'd ask if anyone had a plan, but I think 'don't get killed' is about the sum total of that right now."

"Well, besides 'beat up the other guy', that's the only plan you'll ever need," a voice cut in. Low, smug, a thrumming undertone of excitement in the face of a coming fight. Hello, Roronoa Zoro.

"And that's why you end up cut to shreds by every single swordsman you fight," Nami – the lilting voice, playful but alert, could only be her – replied.

"You've only seen me fight three times."

"Watching you get shanked by Buggy was more than enough," the navigator said flatly.

"Devil Fruits don't count!"

"Forget it. I'm going back to the Merry."

Luffy waved past me. "Hi guys!"

"Hey Luffy!" Usopp – process of elimination, but also sounding much younger and less booze soaked than Zoro – chirped.

I turned to look at the Straw Hat crew - well, three out of four, anyway - and memorized them.

Zoro is, unsurprisingly, built like a tank. His green hair is weirder in person, but it's actually close to the color assigned to it in the manga color spreads, and there are a multitude of little crisscrosses and slashes of pale scar tissue running across the darker tone – his post-time skip design was as white as sour cream next to the much deeper copper tones available here – of his skin.

Luffy's a shade darker, a head shorter, and so much more compact than Zoro. If Zoro was a beeftank of layered muscle, Luffy was a braided rubber band. His own scars were much less varied than the swordsman's, though the one on his face was an ugly, painful looking thing that, combined with my own memory of how the little idiot had gained it, made me cringe just to think about.

Usopp's hair is an explosion of curls, contained only just by his bandana and goggles – not the ones I was half expecting, because I just remembered that those come later – and his nose isn't as weird as I had expected. Really, it was just a nose, just… nosier, if that was the way to describe it. He's the same color as Luffy – despite the disparity between their pallets in the anime – but where Luffy I suspected it was half of a natural tan, Usopp's didn't strike me as anything less than that which he was born with.

Anime based reality, despite making sense and actually following understandable logic – I'd miss that once I hit the Grand Line, wait, what the hell was that thought –, was so weird compared to actual anime.

My thoughts were interrupted by a finger poking my face. "I found another person for our crew!" Luffy declared.

"Is this another Gaimon thing?" Zoro asked.

"I'm still not entirely sure that actually happened," Usopp muttered before adopting a more confident stance and pointing a finger at me. "So! What sort of skills do you bring to the table, miss…?"

"Laine." "She's a doodleman!"

I glanced at Luffy. "Doodle _woman_ , please." I looked back the rest of the crew and shrugged in a way that I hoped was cool and nonchalant. They're not that intimidating, not when I have the mental imagine of all of them wearing some goddamn stupid things. Thank god for filler and movies. "Devil Fruit bullshit."

"Really?"

Luffy nodded so fast, he might have given himself whiplash if he didn't have a rubber spine. "Yeah, she made a bird and she has a really big, really cool snake!" He turned back to me. "Can you do the robot now?"

Ugh. Fine. I opened my sketch book, turning to a blank page. It didn't have to be complicated, it was just a demonstration of my power. Nothing big, I reminded myself as I sketched out a square little robot. I reached out…

Sanji walked around the corner. "What's going on?"

…and I almost dropped the tiny robot that I had just pulled out of the book.

"Domo Chumbly Rooombaaaaaa!" the tiny robot screamed in a high pitched warble.

Oh my god.

"So cool!" Luffy declares as he takes the robot out of my unresisting hands.

A whole new shade of red is going to have to be invented to describe my face right now.

"Okay. That is kind of cool," Usopp conceded.

"It's pint-size," Zoro said.

I sank to my knees.

Kill me now.

There was a mighty yell from outside. Oh, great, the pirates were attacking.

Prayer answered. Welcome to hell.


	2. Chapter 2

The yell was that of an army, a choir of imminent assbeating.

The geyser of water that turned that choir into a cacophony of fear was the opening salvo of something entirely different.

Mihawk's sound – it could only be Mihawk, because the best swordsman in East Blue wasn't even close to this level of monster yet – wasn't the physical choir of Krieg's army. No.

His sound, his presence, was on a cosmic level, a harsh abuse of strings that resonated instinctually as 'terrifying' and 'monstrous'. Not the kind of ravening beast that mindlessly gutted anything that registered as prey. No.

This was the cool, emotionless gaze of a hawk. The cold promise of destruction.

Mihawk was systematic. Mihawk discerned. Mihawk didn't waste his time on small fry, not unless he had nothing but time to kill. And Krieg had made the mistake of being in the wrong place at the wrong time.

The phrase 'one hundred years too early' was invented for this kind of gulf in power.

I was not prepared.

Nobody was.

Pan fish, meet shark.

The Baratie bucked over the waves as Krieg's ship sank, the crests of the waves threatening to swamp the floating restaurant.

"Pull up the anchor!" Zeff roared over the crashing waves, "Unless you want us to join Krieg's wreck on the seafloor!"

"Aye aye, Zeff!" the cooks chorused.

"The hell is going on?!" Usopp screeched.

I spun around on my heel, stumbling as another wave rattled my balance. "Mihawk –"

Two syllables and I have Zoro's complete and undivided attention. Also, his iron grip around my biceps.

On that note, ow.

"Mihawk? Hawkeye Mihawk? The Greatest Swordsman in the World Mihawk? That Mihawk?"

What, is he franchised? "No, his alcoholic cousin, Redeye, the Ultimate Booze Hound- yes, I mean Hawkeye Mihawk!" I snapped, "You think Krieg's crate split into cleanly cut chunks on its own?"

That gets everyone's attention. "What?" "You're saying –" "A swordsman did that?" "What the hell?"

Uuugh. I'm gonna be the Team Exposit… wait, I wasn't a member of the crew. What the fuck- they'd sucked me in already. I'm never going to escape and… I cut off my mental calculations with the realization that with Zoro being the oldest member of the current crew at nineteen, my being twenty-two means I'm the resident adult until Robin joins.

Fuck.

Zeff fails to look impressed at the destruction in front of him. Well, he was heavily implied to be a Grand Line circumnavigator, so he's probably seen ninety percent of all possible shit. "What did you expect? The Grand Line is where monsters gather, and the New World is host to the monsters of monsters. You've just seen your first."

Thanks for the sage wisdom, you old fart.

"Wait, the Merry! She's still anchored –" Zoro's grip vanished, along with the rest of the Straw Hats as they ran to the back door. They wouldn't find anything but a couple of waterlogged bounty hunters.

I steady myself, an impossible task when the boat you're on is doing jumping jacks, but I refuse to fall down.

Not here, not now.

The ocean doesn't give a fuck.

It refuses my refusal and knocks what little balance I have to hell, throwing me against the wall.

I slip to the floor with a groan. Nothing's out of place, I don't think, but I'm going to be feeling this later. If, y'know, I survive today.

My odds felt good, which was kind of weird for me.

Really, Arlong – at least a day away, I hoped, if not for my sake, for Zoro – was a more pressing concern because, unlike Krieg, the literal loan shark actually had some idea of what he was doing.

Of course, reality and anime might prove to be completely different. Perhaps Krieg did possess some modicum of competence outside of… whatever the hell he was good at. Getting his tin plated ass and every single one of his Geneva convention violating gadgets no-selled by Luffy had really sealed his place as 'Mid-Boss' in my memory, I guess.

Gin was higher in my personal esteem and he was…

Actually, where was Gin?

Goddammit.

* * *

**Zoro –**

* * *

Fucking damn it.

Nami was gone.

I should have seen it coming. She was a con artist and a thief. Con artists and thieves disappeared at the least convenient time, along with all your shit. It's what they did. Fact of the universe.

If only she'd done it before they desperately needed the Merry. If only she'd held off until after the inevitable disaster. If only she'd done it before I started to like her.

Well, so much for that.

I pulled Johnny and Yosaku out of the water. I could blame them for this, for not keeping an eye on the thief, but honestly, it was Johnny and Yosaku against a teenage girl.

They didn't stand a chance –

Someone – the old one-legged cook, Zeff – hissed.

"That man."

I looked.

The old chef didn't seem like the kind of scary easy, but there was a look of absolute dread on his face.

"What's wro–"

"Hawkeye Mihawk."

I followed his gaze, trying to find anything that wasn't a ruin out in the haze. There had to be something...

The bottom fell out of my stomach as I saw the coffin-shaped skiff and the solitary figure sitting before the mast.  
It's him.

Black hat and white feather on a dipped head, hands clasped over a bare chest, the glint of a gold cross between the lapels of a black and red coat. Green flames danced on the candles around his feet.

He's here.

A bead of sweat slipped down my cheek, the tickle of warm water uncomfortably close in the dead silence as it traced its way down to my chin and finally, after a small eternity, let go.

The greatest swordsman in the world.

Yellow gold eyes – like a hawk – flashed up and stared through me.

Hawkeye!

"A true master of the blade, an artisan of steel and destruction, and a Warlord of the Sea," Zeff said, almost as if he was reciting a fairy tale rather than describing a flesh and bone man, "You kids think you're ready for the Grand Line? He's the sort of monster who lives there."

Monster. Hah. As good a term as any for a man who'd held the title of world's strongest swordsman for longer than anyone cared to remember.

"It's not just about power," a small voice whispered reverently. The art girl with the pint-sized robot that Luffy was going into recruitment mode on, I remembered, giving her a sidelong look. "It's skill. The ability to hear the world breathing around you. The color of ambition."

She'd put on a coat, scarf, and hat in the last few minutes, and despite looking more like a vagrant than before – like I had a place to judge, actually being a vagrant –, there was an edge to her now.

Analytic. Stubborn. Trembling, but unwilling to step back, even with the death grip she had on the railing.

"And what color is that?" I asked.

"As black as the sword on Mihawk's back."

My fingers tightened around Wado's white hilt.

Fitting.

* * *

Everyone is busy watching Mihawk, but I'm following Zoro as he walks through the chaos, picking his way across the wreckage to where Mihawk sits as calmly as I… well, a normal person, would walk down a street.

Zoro's approaching a fixed point, a permanent scar that would decide the course of his entire destiny and he literally does not appear to give a shit.

Because Zoro thinks he has an actual chance.

I know he doesn't, but he's approaching the world's strongest swordsman, a casual murderer and privateer, with all the regard that a mountaineer gives a mountain.

'Sure, you're big, but I'm a climber and you're there. Get ready to be surmounted.'

There's something awesome about that.

I mean, it's stupid and he's going to lose, but I can't help but believe in him.

He's going to suck pavement and the ten year old that saw this episode so many years ago is still screaming for him to win.

He won't.

I want him to.

But he won't.

And no-one can interfere.

"I hear you're the best," Zoro says, not loud, but loud enough to cross the gap between the wreck and where I stand.

"I am," Mihawk replies, his own voice soft and slightly tinged with an accent I remember from somewhere but can't quite place, "Why the interest?"

The bandana is out and tied, casting a dark shadow over Zoro's face. "Because I've spent my entire life training to beat you," he said before clenching the white sword – Wado Ichimonji, I remember, because even if I can't remember the names of my own relatives, I can remember the names of Zoro's swords – between his teeth.

This seems to amuse the Warlord as he stepped onto the splintered remains of Krieg's main deck. "Is that so? Tell me, how's the view from your well, little frog? If you have any ability with those blades, you'd see the disparity between our skills. Do you challenge me because of courage… or ignorance?"

"Ambition! I've made too many promises and come too far to back down from an opportunity to cross blades with the best." He slipped the other blades – unnamed and soon to be shattered – out of their sheaths.

There's something about the careless way he just lets them drop that irritates me. The enemy won't give you the time to collect those again. The world doesn't rotate at the narrative's convenience.

"The world's greatest swordsman versus Roronoa Zoro," one of the cooks muses, "This will be a fight for the ages."

"Yeah, there isn't a man alive who can take down big bro Zoro!" Yosaku – or Johnny, I hadn't gotten a chance to un-conflate the pair – yelled.

Frogs in the well, ignorant of the wider ocean.

Mihawk pulls out the knife and my breath catches.

It's time.

* * *

**Zoro –**

* * *

I'd come into the fight confident, ready to win or at least draw blood.

Those expectations had been cut to shreds in seconds and now – nothing.

I'd opened with Oni Giri and he'd stopped it with a pocket knife. It wasn't just strength. It was skill. It was knowing the right place to apply the right amount of force.

There were a thousand morons with a sword for every real swordsman. Sure, a moron could pick up a sword and do alright against civilians, but to be a swordsman was an art. It required balance and control and demanded payment in blood and sweat.

Mihawk hadn't given me a drop of either, because he'd paid every due years before I'd even understood what a sword was. Strength, skill, and something I couldn't touch.

Not yet.

That didn't mean I was going to give up. I pulled back, twisting around for a different approach.

Swordsmanship was complicated. Developing your own style of swordsmanship was almost impossible. I'd done it, because if I was going to become the impossible, I needed to be able to do the impossible.

With nothing more than a letter opener, Mihawk was redefining what 'impossible' really meant. Deflecting my every attack, never blinking, never straining, even as I pushed myself further and faster.

You needed to hone your skills, your body, and your blade constantly. A flaw in any of the three unbalanced your entire base.

I trained at every opportunity, fought the strongest I could throw myself against in East Blue, and I polished Wado Ichimonji and the rest of my blades every morning and evening.

Yet this didn't count for shit against Mihawk.

"Tiger… Trap!"

Speed might not have been my focus – my idea of training was finding the biggest boulder and finding new ways to pick that sucker up until I or the piece of shit collapsed – but my swing wasn't slow.

But in whatever world Mihawk existed, my swing was slower than a snail's crawl.

I froze – instinct, what was instinct – as the knife stabbed into my chest. Not quite piercing the heart, not quite making the lungs. Not a kill shot.

Why not?

"Most men would step back when they're defeated," Mihawk said, unblinking yellow eyes on me, "why not you?"

Too stupid to give up. Too stubborn to die. "Don't know," I said, ignoring the blood pooling in my mouth. I'd worry about it later.

For now, face forward.

Cast off your fear.

"Can't retreat."

Retreat and you will age.

"Made too many promises."

Hesitate and you will die.

"If I run away, my honor is lost."

Never stand still.

"Without that, there would be no reason for me to exist."

Stand still and the world will pass you by.

Mihawk frowned. "That's what defeat is."

No. That wasn't it. I'd seen losers with more honor than those who called themselves winners.

"Then I won't accept it," I said.

"Then you'll die."

The knife dug in slightly, a reminder of the fact that it was still lodged in between my ribs.

I refused to break eye contact. "Death is inevitable. Giving up is unacceptable."

The spin of the world slowed as I held the stare of the strongest swordsman in the world.

Mihawk stepped back, taking his knife with him. "Sir, state your name."

I shifted my stance into the final technique of the art I had created. "Roronoa Zoro."

"I'll remember it," he said, reaching up for the blade on his back, "You're a rare one, Roronoa. No one like you has come around for quite some time."

A compliment. Huh.

Between the prospects of winning and death, I at least wouldn't be going to the afterlife empty handed.

Would that be enough, Kuina?

No.

I began to twist my swords. "Santoryu Secret Technique…"

Mihawk stepped back, realigning his grip and his stance – a thrust, he was going to thrust – now!

"Three Thousand Worlds!"

I stepped forward and three things happened.

First, Mihawk disappeared.

Second, the swords in my hands shattered.

And third…

Bright red blood sprayed out of the newest wound in my chest as I sank to my knees, worthless hilts falling out of my hands.

I've lost. There's only one thing left to do.

* * *

The world slows to a crawl as Zoro sheaths Wado and turns. His shirt is already a bloody ruin, red – bright red, the kind of thick candy-bright coloring that doesn't serve any purpose but to churn the stomach – staining even the forest green of his harimaki.

He holds his arms out, ready for the final stroke.

A scar on the back is a swordsman's shame.

There's a grace to it, something that I think that's often missed with Zoro because it's easy to get caught up in the dour attitude and serious-serious-violent surface currents of the man. But he has a rare… nobility that bleeds through at weird times. It reminds me of another Zorro that wore a similar mask and had his own influence over a certain child too many years ago.

"What now?"

Zoro grins. Ten year old me is screaming.

"I might have lost, but I never run!"

Mihawk's reply is a whisper, but it carries across the distance regardless.

"Good."

That's the last word before Yoru descends and a fountain of red rises to paint the wood around the swordsmen's feet crimson.

"ZORO!"

I almost dive after him and it's not for a presence of common sense. No, it's because someone smarter than me stops me.

"You're a hammer, kid!" Zeff snaps, fingers digging into my bad shoulder hard enough to make the joint pop. "You won't do anything but drown with him so let your friends that can swim go after him!"

I know that. I don't know why you call them 'my friends' because I don't – I just want to do something. Anything other than just stand here and be useless.

I taste blood and realize that I've just chewed through the skin of my lip.

Good.

"Why would he… He was outclassed in every way, why couldn't he have given up? What's the point of dying for a dream?" Sanji asked.

Because once you give up the dream, you give up your soul. Because once you stop, you can't find it again. Because once you decide to do nothing but live, without anything to live for, you simply exist, a zombie in all but name.

"Weren't you paying attention?" I asked bitterly – no, only slightly bitter, mostly on the verge of ocular outburst. I can't cry here. I cannot cry in front of everyone. "He made a promise. Everything he did was leading up to this moment. Giving up would be worse than dying."

Johnny and Yosaku finally surfaced, Zoro's limp body between them. He was quickly passed over to Usopp in their dingy, who started bustling around him.

We needed a doctor – no!

They needed a doctor.

I wasn't a part –

"Roronoa Zoro!" Mihawk's voice rang out. "My name is Dracule Mihawk! You might be strong, but there is much for you to learn. So live, discover your strength, and meet me in the Grand Line! No matter how many years it takes, I'll keep this title you desire so much… until you wrest it from my cold, dead hands. Remember this promise, Roronoa!"

Zeff stepped forward, entering the edge of my peripheral vision. "It's not just any swordsman who can earn the regard of Hawkeye Mihawk. You really know how to pick you friends, kid."

He's not my…

Something shiny moves and I realize that it's Wado Ichimonji rising to point at the sky.

"Luffy! Can you hear me?" Zoro gasps out.

"Yeah!" Luffy sounds like how I feel; upset as all hell.

"I'm sorry for disappointing you. I know…" a thick swallow interrupted his speech. "I know that you need nothing less than the best. I've let you down!" Zoro coughed before continuing, "Please forgive me!"

"Hey, Zoro-bro! You can lie down! You're only making your injury–"  
"I solemnly swear to you… that from this moment forward… I will never lose again! Not until I am the best! Is that okay with you… King of the Pirates?"

I'm not crying, you're crying.

Luffy smiles. "Heheheheh. Yep!"

Mihawk, apparently satisfied, turned to leave.

And then Mid-Boss Fuckup McAsshat decided to open his trap.

"Hey, Hawkeye. Aren't you forgetting the whole reason you came here? Didn't you come to kill me, Don Krieg, ruler of the East Blue?" Krieg asks.

Mihawk paused, apparently considering this point.

"The thought had crossed my mind… but after Roronoa, you'd be a poor encore. I've got better things to do… like go home and get some sleep."

Is it wrong to love a man solely based on his ability to diss others? Maybe.

Is that going to stop me? Probably not.

"Is that so? Well…" Krieg's armor unfolded, gun barrels emerging from their hidden compartments. "I'm sure you'll have plenty of time to sleep in the afterlife!" He unloaded every barrel at the Warlord, kicking up a massive plume of smoke and splinters.

If it was me, I'd be dead. With Mihawk, it was just the smokescreen needed to remove himself from Stupidville.

* * *

 

For all Krieg claims to be a master of strategy – personally, I'd think that shooting my own men would be slightly counterproductive to actually having men, not to mention not getting murdered in various ways – I could think of at least five general ideas off the top of my head – or mutinied – he not only lets Johnny and Yosaku's boat get away without any resistance, but he gives the rest of us time to regroup.

This is something I'd expect from very few characters in this series. Gan Fall, certainly. Whitebeard, maybe.

From the likes of Krieg? It boggled the mind, mostly the part that played house to common sense.

You wouldn't see Arlong, Crocodile, or even the Marines being this generous. Not unless they assumed they had victory in the bag.

What, was he relying on Gin…

Oh my god.

Oh. My. God. That was his actual plan. Capture the king from behind or win through a zerg rush from the front.

You know what? Fuck that.

Luffy and the cooks can take the mooks. Gin gets the snake.

I mean, that's what I was going to do anyway – the moment that Gin made a move towards Zeff, I was going to have him trussed up on the floor – but accelerating the time table now.

I shifted my concentration to my serpentine Inkling. It could work on its own, yes, but I needed more precision than the animal intelligence I'd given my creation. Assuming direct control…

Wow, this floor is really clean. Like really, _really_ clean. Like cleaner than some of the dishes I've eaten off of, it's so clean. That's _so_ weird.

* * *

**Gin –**

* * *

Conscience wasn't something that bothered me regularly. Why would it? I was a street rat, trained and bred to being brutal, Spartan, and practical. Kindness and mercy are foreign concepts to the citizens of that downtrodden class and I was no different than every other kid who came out of that universal school of hard knock learning.

Demon, born and raised.

I braced the shotgun I'd stolen out of the broom closet. It was a serviceable enough model, not quite the class that Krieg preferred, but it would move lead from point A to point B effectively enough.

I ignored the sounds of scuffle outside. The head cook – Zeff, they called him – was standing just outside the door.

He was strong, experienced. An idiot could see that just from the way the man stood and looked at the world. But there were so many weak points and from this point of strength…

Break the prosthetic, pin him to the ground with foot, then with the threat of death. Establish presence of hostage. Wait for orders.

I adjusted my grip on the gun.

I wasn't looking forward to this. Not after Sanji…

I forced it out of my mind. There was only the mission.

On three. One, two…

Something black whipped out from beneath a table, tangling around my legs.

The snake!

It head-butted the gun out of my hands as it coiled tighter around my chest, pinching my wounded shoulder as it did so. My knees buckled under the pressure and I was on the floor.

No, not this. I couldn't…

The snake's head slid across my cheek, and a tongue flicked out to sting my ear.

Too close.

I was dead.

"Sssstay down, ssssssilverr," it hissed, "or my embracccce getsss closssssser."

I froze.

* * *

I pulled myself from my Inkling's shallow mind, trying to shake the taste of hissed syllables out of my mouth. Blood, teeth, and proper tongue.

Nobody was watching me readjust to reality. No, the priority was the fight in front of them, not the little dramas behind the curtain.

I don't know how the technique really worked, but I could follow the logic. Every artist put a little of themselves into their work, I just was able to take that to a slightly more supernatural conclusion. That didn't mean it was fun or easy, but it was an undeniably useful ability.

Hey, it was a world where a starfish could gain sentience based on word play alone.

The snake was still wound tight around Gin. It would stay there, unless something happened to me or the snake itself.

More reason to take an active role in the battle.

Luffy was messing with Krieg, though the fight hadn't really progressed past a banter stage. The mooks themselves were getting thrown around by the cooks, Sanji taking the lead.

There was something else. Something my memory had glossed over…

A weird looking fucker wearing plates pulled himself out of the ocean.

That was probably it right there. The thing that was in between Zoro fighting Mihawk and Sanji fighting Gin.

"I! Am! Pearl!"

And Steven!

Oh, right. Bad guy.

I pulled out my sketch book and flipped the pages. Dragon, horse-dragon thing, dragon, lizard, gecko, snake, Smaug, random dude, another dude, skeleton, armored knight – fighting armor with armor was ass-backwards on the fucking ocean –, bird.

On the opposite page, a massive study of birds. Common sparrows, swallows of every description, crows and ravens – the actual difference between the two on paper was a matter of a pinion –, and the odd microraptor.

What? Jurassic Park left an imprint on my childhood. A velociraptor foot-shaped imprint.

I grinned and pulled, feeling feathers come into existence beneath my fingers and rudimentary minds – bright eyes, rustling wings, ready to bolt into flight – tickle against my consciousness. If I could pull this off, it would be the most Inklings I had active at a single time. If I could pull this off – and I had no reason to think that I couldn't – I might actually have a chance beyond here.

A handful of avian Inklings crawled up my sleeves as more materialized from my book. A microraptor settled on my shoulder, toothy mouth slightly agape in anticipation.

One of Krieg's men finally noticed me and stopped, stepping back at the sight of me and my piecemeal murder.

My grin widened to match my little four winged friend's.

Cheep cheep, mother fucker.

* * *

**Luffy –**

* * *

I watched the birds fly at Krieg's men and the plate idiot, clawing at their faces and hair.

The doodle girl – L-something. Lay? Laine? Maybe Rain? I'd figure it out later – was cool. Snakes, robots, and now birds.

I wonder if Usopp still has the robot… oh wait, THAT'S A MACCEEE-

I pulled myself up the mast, just barely missing the giant spiky metal ball that destroyed all the wood where my butt used to be.

Yikes – oh wait, we're tipping over nowww…

I jump right as the mast drops on the plate idiot like a hammer on a nail.

I waved at Sanji. "Yo!"

He grabbed my vest. "Are you some kind of idiot?"

…I get that question a lot.

"We're trying _not_ to break the Baratie," he said slowly.

Well, I know that. "But it was the Teague guy's fault."

"Krieg."

"That's what I said." I looked past Sanji to wave at the doodle girl. "I like the birds!"

"Thanks…?"

"Can you do a robot?"

"Now's not a good time!"

One of the birds landed on my hat and leaned over the edge to look at me. Hey, lizard bird!

I pointed at it. "Can I eat it?"

The lizard bird bit my finger.

"I wouldn't."

Aw. I looked the lizard bird in the eye. "Can you let go? I need to fight a guy."

It let go and crawled down the side of my head – weird tickly claws – and jumped off my shoulder. It had four wings.

Cool.

Someone tried to come at me from behind. I punched him. Oh, hi plate guy.

He tipped over backwards and fell backwards into the water.

Bye plate guy.

"Beige guy's next, right?" I asked Sanji.

"Krieg."

"That's what I said." I pointed at the shiny armor idiot. "Can I go beat him up now?"

Sanji pulled a fresh cigarette out of his pocket and put it in his mouth. "Knock yourself out, chore boy."

* * *

I still couldn't quite remember what all had happened at the Baratie in the original story, but Luffy no-selling Pearl wasn't quite what I remembered, funny though it was to actually watch. Really, Pearl had to have something more solid than that. There was no way it was going to be that easy.

But, there was Luffy, jumping across the wreckage to throw blows with Krieg.

I shifted on my feet. A few of my birds had died, washed out by freak seawater splashes or caught by lucky swipes that left black ink splatter stuck to whoever had managed to 'kill' them, but the main horde was still driving Krieg's man to distraction.

Outside of the main fight, Gin was moving again, straining against my snake's grip. It was adjusting, though by snake logic that simply meant sneaking beneath the man's shirt to get a better hold.

And I got to experience the entire debacle second-hand.

Why was this my life, again?

Maybe I should have given it a bit more in the way of brains when I brought it to life. Or maybe I should have just settled for making it bigger.

Ugh – Something sharp tickled at my throat.

Dammit, that's a sword.

"You really need to work on your situational awareness, kid," the pirate – a mook! A fucking mook! – said with an audible grin, "Now, if you'll kindly stop the circus…"

Fuck.

I moved to open my notebook…

"Without that."

Okay, something I never practiced.

This wasn't going to go to hell _at_ _**all.**_

"D-doesn't work without the book," I stuttered out. Lies, lies, liiiiees.

"I could always kill you."

"D-doesn't mean that'll stop it."

Yes it would, but I was relying on the local ignorance of all things Devil Fruit. Come on, moron.

The blade stayed for a moment before pulling back a centimeter. "One false move and I relieve you of your head."

Alright. I took a breath. Timing was everything.

No room for error.

I pulled the birds back, the feathers melting back into the page.

The blade relaxed an inch further, all the allowance I was about to get. Now!

I turned the page and, as I threw myself away from the cutting edge of the sword, pulled on the knight. Steel materialized and a strong arm wrapped around me, keeping me from slamming into the Baratie's deck.

More importantly, the other, equally strong arm was punching Captain Clever-Clogs in the face and into the ocean.

I grinned as I tucked the knight back into my notebook. Too big and heavy to be of any use on the wreckage, but I'd done it.

A laugh burst out of me, half manic and half giddy with the realization that I _could_.

I could do thi-

A large, heavy hand seized my ankle and my notebook fell out of my hands. I got a single look at my attacker – Pearl! That son of a bitch! – before the ocean chased any words out of my mouth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cliffhanger, dun dun duuun.
> 
> Luffy's POV was the hardest to get into because there's uncomplicated and there's bone stupid - no shots intended at a certain musician - and Luffy's closer to the first than the second.
> 
> I wasn't entirely sure where I was going to go with the fight scenes, but hopefully there will be smooth sailing from here on to the end of the Baratie arc.


	3. Chapter 3

Air flooded out of my lungs, even as I struggled to drown slightly slower.

I'd almost drowned before – the water was different and this was so much faster, because this time someone was dragging me down –, but I hadn't realized what being a hammer really entailed before this moment.

I couldn't fight it. I could move, sort of, but there was no purpose. Any technical skill I had possessed was simply gone.

Phobia meet upgrade.

Pearl was looking up at me, a dually cruel and serene smile on his stupid face as I slowly died in front of him.

Pirate. He's a pirate. Just because you know more about the nice ones doesn't mean the rest are as cuddly.

He pulled me down, bringing me down to eye level. He slowly brought up a hand and waggled his fingers at me.

Bye-bye.

I squirmed to bring my hands up for my own farewell.

Pearl's eyebrow twitched as I gave him the double barrels.

What you gonna do, asshole? Kill me faster? I'm already –

The dull roar of the sea gave way to a deafening splash.

What?

I couldn't look up, but I felt Pearl's grip on my ankle release and the water move as the titanic asshole swam up and away from me. Something more pressing than my imminent death had caught his attention.

Well, it's not like I was going anywhere.

My lungs were burning, my vision was edging black – my god, the ocean was beautiful down here –, and it was a matter of… what, seconds?... before I'd open my mouth and give up what little was left of my air.

A difference of a few seconds.

Hah. Like anyone was coming to save me. They were all busy with Krieg's –

A gong rang out – cloister bell? – and I lost my last gasp of air.

Sorry.

Something moved through the water towards me and I felt something – soft? warm? – take my hand.

Pearl? A shark? Someone else?

My vision sank further into darkness, dyeing the brilliant bright blue of the ocean – the lights, the lights – a deeper, darker midnight shade. The dark figure above me was haloed in golden, fading light.

A strong arm wrapped around my body.

It doesn't matter. It's too late.

I'm dead.

* * *

 

**Sanji –**

* * *

 

I should have known that that shitty plate – Oyster, Clam, Pearl, something like that – couldn't have gone down so easily. Not from a single hit.

He was a member of Krieg's crew. Backstabbers, false-flag runners. Taking advantage of an apparent defeat was second nature. Attacking the weakest member of an opposing force was elementary level.

And now Laine – Devil Fruit user, not freakishly strong like Luffy the crazy chore boy Pirate King – was underwater with the bastard. Drowning.

I stripped out of my tie and jacket instantly. Even if it would make swimming easier, I'm not stupid enough to lose my shoes in the middle of a brawl.

Diving beneath the water, I ignored the immediate resistance and the bits of Krieg's ship that hadn't quite settled on if they'd fall to the seabed or rise back up to the surface. I focused on the shitty plate and the weakly struggling body in his grip.

The plate bastard noticed me, pushing Laine out of the way as he swam towards me, faster than I would expect for an asshole wearing armor.

Still, I was faster, fresher – how long had the bastard been under? I didn't know shit about his lung capacity –, and, unlike Clam Chowder here, had the advantage of not being weighed down by armor underwater.

I shot straight at the man, past his first painfully slow swing – thank you, water resistance –, and got a grip on his chest plate.

The confusion on his face melting into horrified realization in the seconds before I kicked his nose in was delicious. He reeled back, clutching at his face.

Give me a lever, a fulcrum, and a place to stand and I'll kick you twice around the world.

I grinned before using the asshole to launch myself towards Laine properly.

She's still alive, but just.

Her eyes were glazed over, barely registering my presence. I grabbed her and started pulling her up towards the surface. What lies above us gave me a second of pause.

The plate fucker is back, bleeding, and pissed.

Well, I wasn't here to make friends.

I twisted, kicking at the water to dart forward again, this time adjusting my grip to hold onto my precious cargo. Losing my grip would mean losing the reason I came down here.

His hands came up to protect his head. He thought I was aiming for his face again.

I wasn't.

I stepped on the back of his head and kicked off.

The water released us with an explosive spray as I scrambled to get a grip on something... ah, there.

Securing my grip on the railing, I threw Laine's limp body up on the Baratie's deck.

"We'll take it from here, Sanji,"the old geezer yelled as a couple of the cooks huddled around and started the process of wringing the Devil Fruit user out, "so go keep Patty and Carne from getting skewered."

Bah, fine.

The Pearl bastard needed to be taken care of anyway.

* * *

 

I drifted and I dreamed.

I knew it was a dream because I hadn't been to Aunt Mary's tiny lake house in years. Not since she sold it to move in with the Wicked Witch of the East, Aunt Francis, and her evil little Toto dog.

I was smaller, wearing age seven's haircut and favorite summer dress. Orange, black stripes. Or maybe it was black with orange stripes. Fourteen years since my step-mother had thrown it out, the haziness of memory was excusable. The haircut was a simple straight across the bangs.

Like Robin's, a slightly more conscious part of me remembered. Seven year-old me would have liked Robin. Archeology and mythology had been the order of that age.

I was sitting on the low hanging tree, splashing my feet – bare and pale against the dark clear blue of the water – in the lake. The rocks were right beneath the smooth water, the deception of proximity provided by truly clear water.

On the dock about fifteen feet away, my grandfather was fishing. This was strange, because he was from the other end of my family tree – it was a dream, the man had been dead for years, don't question it – but fishing was one of his things.

Well, before Alzheimer's took his memory, driver's license, and cigarette habit away – Grandma had realized the relative stupidity of letting the narcoleptic keep flaming cancer sticks in his mouth now that his memory was getting more holes in it than Swiss cheese – , but that was year seventeen, not seven. He was still lucid, with an acid sharp tongue and a penchant for story weaving that didn't repeat like a broken record.

I splash the water – it feels real, clear and clean and cold – as he lets off a magnificent cast.

"You alright over there, short stuff?"

It's not audible – another clue that this is a dream – but I can understand what he's saying. Like reading subtitles, except you cannot see anything and there's no foreign language to hear. The words are just there, in your head. They had weight and I could tell who was speaking, but there was no identifiable voice.

"Mmhm."

I'd drowned. I was pretty sure that qualified as 'not entirely alright', but 'mmhm' worked.

Grandpa – baseball cap low over his face, allowing only the curved beak of his nose and his lined smile to be seen – reeled in his line a little. "I think you're fibbing."

You're the product of my subconscious, so you'd be the one to know.

"I know your dad messed you up – hey, I didn't raise the fucker, I can call it as I see it – but you're doing better. Helps if you," he looked towards me and touched his finger to the side of his nose, "'know' the people you're just meeting, right? Less scary, having an idea of what you're getting into."

Yeah, it did help. Zeff could have had me on edge the entire time I was in the same building as him if I didn't know about the heart of gold – there had to be something if he'd given up his leg and entire food supply for a Sanji who he knew nothing about but his hair color and a dream – underneath his grizzled exterior. Krieg might have been actually terrifying if I didn't have the knowledge of what sort of slime he was to let anger/disgust/hatred override anything resembling fear.

But at the same time, it was scary. The action wasn't on the page anymore, the blood was very real, and I wasn't even close to safe. The rails would be leaving, eventually, and what little I knew would be moot.

Grandpa shook his head, reeling his line all the way back before preparing for another cast. "That's life, munchkin. Wonderful, dangerous, hilarious, and tragic, wrapped up in eternal mystery. Everything you've read and more."

I swung my legs, the soles of my feet just skipping across the surface of the water. My ribs ached. "Time to wake up?"

He nodded. "Time to wake up."

* * *

 

"Time to wake up, kid."

Ow.

Everything hurt – ribs, lungs, arms, legs, head, eyes, hair… wait, why my hair? – and I was wet. Bad wet. Clammy wet. 'Mildew is inevitable' wet.

"My glasses…" I murmured.

"To your left," Zeff said, shifting backwards to lean against a wall. "We moved you inside, so you can relax. Chore boy and the eggplant are handling Krieg and Chowder."

Pearl. The motherfucker.

"I hope Sanji breaks his face ugly."

The old chef snorted. "What other option is there?"

I coughed on a laugh. You may have survived the entire Grand Line, old man, but there are still more things in heaven and earth than dreamt of in your philosophy.

Shit, I couldn't move. Ow ow ow – wait.

I was in the ocean.

Ocean submersion and unconsciousness kills Devil Fruit powers. Well, not involuntary, permanent status powers like Luffy's or Chopper's, but mine definitely wasn't that.

And, while I'd brought most of my remaining Inklings back into my sketchbook – oh god, where was that – there had been one that had been otherwise occupied.

My eyes widened – what was I looking for? I'm as good as blind without my glasses – as the pieces slid together. I'd not only drowned, but I'd passed out too.

There was no feedback from my snake. Where the fuck was Gin – oh, hello shotgun.

I stared up at the grey suited blur, trying not to swallow too loudly.

Well, that was one question answered.

"I get the idea that you're the one to thank for this," Gin said coolly.

'This' was a very open to interpretation word. This could refer to the restaurant – Zeff and Sanji's doing, not mine –, my near drowning – Pearl's doing –, the entire fight – Krieg's fucking fault –, but I had a feeling that it had something to do with my absent snake.

Well, that still left a world of possible interpretations open to speculation. "If you could specify…"

He tilted his head to the side, revealing a big black tattoo – I couldn't see details, but it was something solid and winding – on his neck.

I didn't remember anything like that in the story.

"I have no idea what I'm looking at."

Gin stared back down at me. "Your 'incredibly deadly viper'."

Oh. Well.

I wasn't even going to even touch on the shit storm of consent issues that that little nugget of information just kicked up.

"D-did that hurt? Going on?"

Gin frowned before answering, "Not the worst pain I've been in. You ask like you haven't…"

Because I haven't. Having bullshit powers for a week doesn't exactly confer mastery. "I just want to know what level of dead I'm looking at here, Mr. Cold-Hearted Cool-Headed Demon," I said.

But, damn, what a weird and mostly useless side superpower. Give people instant tattoos. Wow. Talk about Devil Fruit bullshit.

Kind of irrelevant given that I'm more than likely dead where I stand, but still.

Bullshit.

Gin leaned back slightly. Analyzing.

"Don Krieg's the one who usually makes that introduction."

"I imagine he's loud enough."

"He's also the only one who uses that particular epithet. Others prefer 'Kijin'. Short, concise," the barrel of the shotgun pushed my head to the side, "and completely accurate. But I wonder… where you would have picked Don Krieg's version up?"

Fuck.

* * *

 

**Sanji –**

* * *

 

Okay, I don't need any of this.

Everything is on fire – fucking shit chowder asshole, what kind of fucking pirate was afraid of his own blood – and Don Krieg is talking about poison and I seriously just want today to be over because this is Sea King-grade bullshit.

Okay, one thing at a time.

Pearl's not a good opponent for me. Do you know how many pirates actually use three-inch thick armor? None – well, here was one –, because it's heavy and expensive, not to mention the fact that armor is a shit decision when you live on the fucking ocean.

Do you know how well kicking three inch armor works?

Spoiler – not very fucking well.

"You might be wearing reinforced shoes, young man," the junior asshole chortled, "but take it from me, striking the impenetrable with protection will still do damage."

My legs began to sway before I caught myself, grimacing at the sensation of wavering running through my bones and muscles.

Hadn't crossed my mind _at all_.

Fucking pompous asshole, I'd been kicking shit my entire life. Did he think that this was a new sensation?

Beyond that – can't get sucked into watching Luffy and Krieg's fight, but can't ignore it either – a stick thin rubber man is beating the ever-loving shit out of an East Blue legend. Every single dirty trick that Krieg's pulled out of his ass, Luffy's just punched it into tiny little pieces.

Cloak of metal thorns, poison dart gun, metric fuckton of normal guns…

Punched, pulled straight out of the wound, and just generally ignored.

Well, Krieg finally smartened up and realized that, maybe, using something that cannot be punched might be a tactically sound move.

Okay, fire, poison, assholes abounding. Was there anything I forgot?

"Don Krieg!"

Oh right.

Gin.

The head asshole paused. "About time, Gin, but I'm never one to complain about the tactical advantage of hostages."

Hostages?

I twisted around to look and almost bit my cigarette in half.

Fucking shit.

Gin was standing in the doorway, the geezer laid out flat under his foot – how the hell did Zeff get taken out that easily? Hell, I hadn't managed it yet and I'd been trying to kick the old fuck's ass for years –, shotgun pointed at his neck. With his free arm, he'd locked Laine in a stranglehold.

Dammit –

"Don't you know not to take your eyes off your opponent?"

Those were the last words I heard before my head exploded into a red, white, and black fireworks display of pain.

I kneeled on the deck – when had I fallen? The transition between standing and being down on my hands and knees had been practically non-existent –, gagging on blood. Mouth injury, either from biting my tongue or my cheek. Nothing serious. The blood pouring from my nose and ears – ear bleeding was bad, I remembered, just not why – was definitely something entirely different.

There was a faint buzz of noise, like hearing a conversation from underwater. Fluctuations and tones that betrayed voices, but the words…

I couldn't make them out, even if I could tell that it was Krieg flapping his gums.

Well, so long as he was talking, he wasn't poisoning anyone. I slowly rose to my feet, ignoring the urge to sway.

Ear and head injuries. How did they work –?

Okay, loss of consciousness. Still awake, so not that. Not yet.

I felt something move from behind me and I dodged the plate bastard's next swipe. Too far, I realized as I twisted my other leg around to catch me before I fell again.

There was no room for mistakes here. Not in a fight to the death.

Disturbance of equilibrium. Check that box; I was tilting on smooth seas like a green seaman in a storm.

Pearl made another attempt and I twisted away from it, only to trip over his other arm. The asshole's lips moved and I heard the condescending buzz of an overconfident idiot sharing his stupid with the rest of the world.

Lack of hearing. Oh boy, was that box in the red, though the static did seem to be clearing. Well, slowly. At least I wasn't missing much in this battle of the blowhards.

Except for, y'know, warnings, sound cues, possible death threats against the old man to whom I owed my existence and the girl who'd I'd fished out of the ocean maybe fifteen minutes ago.

Nothing terribly important – oh, there goes my balance again.

And here comes the fucking plate of the day to smash my stupid fucking face in.

Perfect.

* * *

 

Even through the haze of nearsightedness, it would have been impossible to mistake the black figure messily rag-dolling across the deck for anything other than Sanji.

Gin's grip stiffened around my neck.

He was loyal before anything else, I remembered, and now that loyalty was being torn in two separate directions. Loyalty to his captain – asshole, but probably the first person to treat Gin with anything resembling respect – or Sanji – who'd spared him from death by starvation without condescension or expectation of repayment –. A long working relationship or a moment of unexpected kindness?

Sanji rose shakily to his feet and reeled out of the way out of a series of crushing blows. There weren't any retaliatory kicks, no surprise given the fact that Sanji looked barely capable of standing.

"Stop it, Sanji," Gin growled.

Pearl slammed him into the Baratie's deck, kicking up a storm of splinters.

"Just give up."

A lesser – smarter – man would have stayed down.

The world slowed and I could feel things crawling through space.

With that disconcerting illusion of omniscience – I was so intimately _aware_ , yet blind as a bat –, events began to chain, unfolding like a lotus.

Sanji dragged himself back upright. Pearl descended. The pressure around my neck vanished as Gin flew forward, shotgun thrown far to the side as something – tonfa? No, it had weight, the kind of weight that broke bones – emerged from some hidden holster in his jacket.

Sanji ducked back, folding at the knee - not far enough to dodge Pearl's attack, but just far enough to allow Gin past – as he fell, only half in control of his descent, back towards the deck.

A gong rang out as Gin slammed his weapon – tonfa, but with a dense ball of iron on the end, indelicate but effective – into Pearl's plate armor.

Impenetrable, invincible… Pearl might as well named himself 'unsinkable'.

As the beaten tank sank to his knees, the shattered remains of his pride clattering to the deck around him, time resumed its normal speed.

"What is this treachery, Gin?" Krieg yelled.

I can tell you what this treachery is. It's that fucking moment in Airbud where the court decides that ownership of the magic sports dog goes to whoever the dog likes best.

Or whoever had bacon in their pockets. Dogs aren't complex beings, even if they are possessed of unnatural ability in the realm of human athletics.

Comparing a human being to a dog was kind of sick though. What the hell, me – oh, wait, there's a fight on with a high probability of the imminent violation of the Geneva Convention.

That didn't even exist here, did it?

I mean, shit, there were so many human rights violations… correction, people rights. If a government can be considered a 'person' legally, fish people fucking count.

I slapped myself.

Survive now. Complain about the many – oh god, so fucking many – failings of the government later.

"Done with your breakdown yet, kid?" Zeff asked, slowly pulling himself upright.

I made a strange noise that could have been translated as 'yes', 'no', or 'if I open my mouth, I might puke from stress and I really don't need stress vomit in my life right now, so don't make me'. I'd missed the entire conversation between Gin and his captain – the word 'former' felt like it really belonged in there – and there was only one place to go from here.

Krieg shifted – gold-glinting in the sun wasn't something easily missed, even by the likes of me – and brought a shield – not a shield, his spear, the literally 95% of all shitty-as-in-not-kosher-at-all weapons I could conceive of, and that's mostly because Agent Orange and napalm didn't seem to exist in One Piece – up to face us.

"Gin. You're no longer worthy of being a Krieg Pirate. Throw away your gas mask."

You know what? Fuck it.

Fuck scared, fuck the imminent possibility of death, and – most importantly – fuck Krieg and everything he fucking stands for. The man's a piece of shit and I am absolutely done with his breed of asshole.

As Gin moved to throw his gas mask into the water – fucking ha-ha no – I ran forward and grabbed the back of his collar. The mask fell next to Sanji with a clatter and an unreassuringly clear 'crack'.

The chef coughed from his place on the ground. It was a wet, ugly sound.

Fuck.

Logically, I didn't think that I could actually move Sanji. I'm 120 pounds of bad joints and barely functional body parts.

At least Gin had working legs, because even if they were jelly-consistency at the moment, with him I would just have to pull in the right direction, but Sanji…

Fuck fuck fuck fuck… You know what?

In keeping with today's running theme of 'fuck it', I kneeled down and asked the question that would decide my next stupid decision of the day.

"Back hurt?"

He coughed. "Actually, that's probably the one thing that isn't right now."

Well, that means that my literally dragging your ass back across the deck probably won't paralyze you for life then.

Which left the small matter of outrunning the poison gas.

Fun.

As if suddenly realizing how fucking stupid my plan was, Sanji turned his head – oh, god, there was blood coming out of his ears, holy shit – to Gin. "Are you going to help or not?"

… I could have asked the actually physically competent pirate to help, yes, but apparently that had felt like too much of a crapshoot to actively cross my mind.

Gin hesitated only for a second before picking Sanji up – so much more elegant than my planned drag – and ran towards the Baratie door, with one gangly and increasingly useless artist – meee – on his heels.

Of course, once I've dragged the guy who dragged us into this entire mess in the first place to safety, my life choices are called into question by people who did jack shit to help.

"What the hell?"

"Why would you bring him in here?"

I ignored Patty and Carne. "We need towels, rags. Anything that can hold water."

"What are you on about kid?" Zeff asked.

I checked the seams of the door. It was a good fit, but there was still the line of light at the base. "Krieg's got poison gas. Don't have gas masks, don't have the time or means to make any, so gotta stop up the cracks and cover your faces. Not much, but it's..."

The old chef nodded. "Better than nothing," he finished before turning to the cooks. "You heard the squirt. Get moving!"

People were actually listening to me.

I shuddered before joining the rush to push back death with dishrags.

God, what a weird experience.

* * *

 

**Luffy –**

* * *

 

I really, really don't like this Krieg guy.

All he has is weapons. Tools. Tricks.

And he treats his comrades like shit.

I pull a spike out of my shoulder and turn it around before I throw it away.

It's a little numb, but I've had worse.

Krieg's fiddling with his stupid shield again, but there's a mask on his face now. It's got tubes and stuff like the clam divers wear.

Why…?

Oh, he was talking about poison earlier… oh.

He aimed the shield at me. There's a little hole in the middle, like a gun…

Oh crap!

The poison gas!

I started running backwards. Gas mask, gas mask, gas mask…

Oh, there was one!

I stuck it on my face and turned back around to –

Explosion!

* * *

 

Oh my god.

Gas is supposed to be quiet. A silent killer. This was an explosion of sound and light that was only the prelude to something worse.

As if choking to death on something you can't fight wasn't bad enough already.

I sank to my knees, curling up next to the door.

If my shitty plan doesn't work – and, let's face it, my track record for plans working is pretty damn terrible –, we're dead.

Dead dead dead dead DEAD.

* * *

 

**Luffy –**

* * *

 

The mask worked, even if I can't see anything.

Purple smoke is everywhere, too thick to see anything but different shades of bruise.

It's got to be the poison Krieg was talking about, because it's itchy.

That was the rule wasn't it? If it itches, it's not safe to eat?

…maybe I should have paid more attention – oh, the wind's blowing the smoke away!

And there's Krieg. That asshole.

Mm. It's hard to tell with his mask on but he looks mad.

Ah, he took the mask off.

Yep.

He mad.

"Why don't you just die?!" Krieg yelled.

This guy is an idiot.

"Because I'm gonna be King of the Pirates!" I yell back, "I don't have time for dying yet!"

A bullet bounces off of my chest. Hasn't this guy been paying attention? I'm a rubber man. Bullets are useless against me.

He pulls off the other shoulder of his armor and starts fiddling around.

Another weapon? This is getting old.

You don't fiddle around in a fight.

Now's a good time for a Pistol, I think.

I run at him. I might be yelling.

He says something. I'm not paying attention, but I'm guessing it's stupid.

Stupid words out of his stupid mouth on his stupid face.

Krieg pulls his cape around, showing an inside covered in spikes.

Spikes? That's it?

I don't care about spikes.

I punch the smug look of his face and send him flying.

He skids to a stop, the spikes keeping him from going as far as I'd like.

Not important. Less distance to cover before I punch him again.

"Who's funeral is today?" I ask as I wipe some blood off my knuckles. "Because my funeral is going to take a lot more than this."

Krieg's men are whispering.

Crazy.

Strong.

Crazy strong.

Guess they haven't met Gramps.

They think that Krieg's going to lose.

Something clangs together and I look back at Krieg.

"Shut up, maggots! Never doubt me!" the idiot says as he turns his shoulder-things into a… Frisbee on a stick?

What?

A blade pops out of the end.

Okay, now it's a really dumb looking spear.

That makes more sense… ah!

I jump out of the way of his swing and the deck where I was at explodes.

What?

An exploding spear?

What?

That's crazy. That's stupid. That's crazy stupid.

"This is a whole new kind of weapon kid. If I hit you with this, you won't just get cut up…" Krieg pulled the spear back for another swing. "You'll be kibbles and bits."

He swings again and the bit of mast I was on turns into splinters.

Okay.

I really don't like this guy.

He decides to stab at me this time.

I have a plan.

I punch the blade between my fists.

The steel splinters – junk, junk, junk –before the rest of the thing explodes.

Ow.

But the plan is still on.

I'm gonna punch the blade until it breaks.

* * *

 

We're outside the restaurant again, watching this mess and all I can think is –

Oh my god.

I forgot that Luffy's fights are batshit crazy.

I don't know how, because they all are. Every single boss fight ends with bloody knuckles at the very least, but this kid is fucking punching the pointy end of a spear.

He's nuts. Fucking crazy.

And the terrifying thing it, 'fucking crazy' works.

The spear is broken. Krieg is now swinging a bomb on a stick.

Which, to be fair, was the primary function anyway, but still.

Zero points Krieg, and… what? Fifty million points Luffy?

Any way you slice it, Luffy's winning.

The rubber man unleashes his Gatling, following up with a Pistol.

Krieg doesn't seem overly impressed, if his crowing is any indication.

Wootz Steel, he claims, is unbreakable.

Hah. Wasn't that what Pearl said about his armor?

Prepare for breakage, fucker.

The dance continues, climbing masts and then forgoing footing entirely as Luffy and Krieg go airborne.

Luffy breaking out the Bazooka is no surprise.

Said-Bazooka shattering Krieg's much vaunted armor is no surprise.

And Krieg pulling out another sneaky move is definitely not a surprise.

Luffy's cry of 'I totally win' is cut off by a steel weighted net, courtesy of one fucking sore loser who needs to fucking pass out or die already, and it's the natural progression of events that sees the rubber man getting dragged down to the seabed.

This doesn't stop Luffy from hammering the fucker face first into the Baratie's deck with a spinning Hammer, which is satisfaction in its purest form, but still.

Luffy, ocean, drowning.

The chefs are cheering, the pirates gnashing their teeth, Sanji is looking fairly happy for a man who has had at least sixty percent of the shit in his body beaten out of him...

I raise my hand.

"Uh, sorry to rain on your parade," I say, "but can somebody fish the hammer out of the ocean? Sometime before he drowns?"

Sanji, to his credit, barely spares a 'what' before he jumps out of his shoes and into the ocean.

* * *

 

The wind-down is… it feels earned. That's such a weird, but satisfying feeling, getting the chance to sit down and rest after a massive effort. It doesn't matter if it's fighting, drawing, or indulging in difficult vidya.

Feeling your muscles uncoil is just so good.

I collapse next to Gin, who is sitting alone on the balcony level. While Krieg's pirates are loosely pooled on the outskirts, waiting for the chance to leave, the disowned demon has his own personal bubble of solitude. The tattoo I inadvertently gave him is even more impressive than it was as an ink drawing, because now the gold and silver scales play along the lines of muscle and sinew, shining in the afternoon sun.

The man might have pointed a gun at me earlier today, but I am too tired to give a fuck.

I might not care for crowds, but being alone sucks.

Gin at least gives me a quick sideways glance, but there's none of the cold confidence from earlier. Vulnerability is a weird thing to see on a grown-up's face and I imagine it's even weirder being the guy feeling it, especially when he's supposed to be this cold, hardened criminal.

There's a question I really want to ask, but it's a struggle between curiosity and the really fucked up set of manners that were hammered into me since I was born.

Don't ask questions. Don't pry. Leave other people's problems alone. Children – you will always be a child, some soundless voice that strikes like hammer falls – are seen, not heard.

Curiosity wins.

"Why'd you go with Krieg in the first place?" I ask after a while.

Gin doesn't say anything for a long while.

"He was strong, but he thought I was…" he swallows, "he thought I was worth recruiting. Other members of the crew came to him. Me, he chose."

The shine of being special to someone – anyone – when the world told you that you'd amount to nothing would drive men to murder.

"Yes, he could be cruel, but that's authority. He's the captain, the men need to know who's in charge–"

His tone reeks of quiet desperation, trying to justify Krieg's existence. It's a familiar sound.

I swallow down the tightness in my throat and give a small smile. "You ever hear about a guy called Whitebeard?" I ask.

Gin hasn't.

Somehow, beyond all logic, I'm not surprised. Knowledge doesn't seem to flow well in this world, and I wouldn't be shocked if the World Government was behind it.

"He's the strongest man in the world, for real. He's got an… armada of sorts, almost the same set-up as Krieg." I close my eyes and frame the sense of Whitebeard – the strength of the oldest, biggest tree in the forest, steady and kind, but capable of unleashing fury with a depth deeper than the ocean – before I continue. "But to him, his crew is his family. Those who serve under him are sons to him. He'd break down the sky to protect them."

Or the foundations of Marineford.

"If you make it to the Grand Line again, keep an ear out for him and the guys under him," I say as I rise to my feet. My body doesn't want to, but this conversation is edging out the edge of my comfort zone. "If you get an offer to join, I'd take it. That's the kind of crew you deserve to be part of."

I limp away, trying not to let what passes as a cool façade crumble.

Zeff is watching from the highest tier of the Baratie's balconies. I only meet his glance for a second, but I have a feeling the old geezer sees all the way through me anyway.

It's barely ten minutes later before Gin and Krieg's assorted fruits and nuts leave forever.

If Gin took anything I said to heart, I don't think I'll ever know.

* * *

 

Dinner with a bunch of rowdy sea-chefs is surprisingly sedate, though a rollercoaster probably counted as 'sedate' after the events of the day.

Of course, with Monkey D. Luffy in residence, 'sedate' isn't exactly the garden variety definition of the word.

Luffy has eaten at least two of everything. I know this because he's decided that me and Sanji are the people to sit by. To be perfectly fair, there is no one else to sit by because there are literally no free seats.

"Isn't this a restaurant?" Sanji asked before quietly grousing, "You'd think we'd have chairs, but whatever."

Casual reminder that everyone on the team – there's no question that I'm almost certainly a Straw Hat now – is a freaking teenager but me.

We're the floor team, dissed in the most deliberate way possible. To think there was a point in my childhood where the option to eat on the floor was something amazing and cool.

Luffy's surrounded by crumbs and empty plates less than a minute into the meal. I swear to god, the kid's got the mouth of a vacuum cleaner and the stomach capacity of a black hole.

I'm more than happy to settle for soup – Sanji's, I remember, the same that I had at lunch –, a biscuit, and a bit of meat. I'm not a big eater, but I'm only a little slower than Luffy is.

Hey, they only gave you so much time to eat at school and the habit stuck, at least when I remembered to eat.

Hmm. That was a bad habit. Something to chew on with this meat, I suppose.

"Who made this soup?"

Oh boy.

"Oh, that would be me! Great, isn't it?" Sanji looks excited, proud even.

Knowing what's coming up next kills my appetite.

"It's absolute shit! I wouldn't feed it to pigs!" Patty declares and the rest of the cooks follow his example.

Trash. Disgusting. Inedible.

Even if I know they're lying – a farce in the name of making a boy spread his wings –, my insides are churning. I silently hand Luffy the last of my meat before I stand up and walk out.

As soon as I'm clear of the noise – such an unpleasant atmosphere – I pull out my sketchbook and start scribbling.

No shapes, just scrawls of black ink and the rough scratching noise that follows them. Stress manifest.

Sanji follows sooner than later, his cigarette a thin, furious chimney spitting a constant stream of smoke as he paces tight circles around the Baratie's lowest deck.

"The hell do they get off shitting on me? I've worked years on getting that shitty geezer's recipe right and I know for sure that it doesn't fucking taste like stewed sewage!"

Kcchh.

My scribbling intensifies as small, stressed – not quite as stressed as me, but certainly approaching – stick figures and abstract faces – more tightly representing my internal mood, but infinitely less sharable – find their way onto my page.

Six or seven passes later, Sanji stops and slumps against the door he'd come out of. The cigarette is shorter and down to a slow burn, but apparently that's a sign that it's finished because he's trading it for a fresh coffin nail.

My sketches relax slightly – the stick figures become more playful and the wide-eyed faces disappear entirely – and the scribbles decompress.

The sound of a lighter trying – and failing, if the fact that the flint keeps scratching – to light is the only other noise between my pen, the ocean, and the wind.

Well, there's also the faint strain of conversation from inside the restaurant. Sanji probably has a better positioning to actually make out the words, but I remember this.

Wait, wasn't there a Johnny and/or Yosaku moment coming up –

A shark –a fucking shark! – abruptly jumped out of the water, clearing the railing and sailing straight into the Baratie.

Part of me is crying inside.

The rest of me just says 'yep, this is One Piece'.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh man. This took a while to write, not only because I was trying to change things up a bit (didn't entirely succeed, I think), and because I just haven't had the time to sit down and re-watch the show between adult responsibilities and personal issues acting up.
> 
> I really appreciate all the reviews and support though and I'll be hard at work on the next chapter!


	4. Chapter 4

**Usopp –**

* * *

I run through the remains of an upside-down village. This is prime evidence of how not cool this whole situation is because 'upside-down villages' don't happen without some serious shit going down. And I have a feeling that I am running straight into said shit.

I don't think there's really words for how fucked I am right now, because this is a rare situation.

Well, actually, considering that there are people living on this island with the highly aggressive fishman pirate population – which, now that I think about it, is kind of weird for East Blue – it probably isn't that rare, but this is me I'm talking about here.

The most danger I've been in – well, save for the whole Kuro thing – was from poisonous mushrooms and playing with scorpions. I am not equipped for fucking fishmen.

You wanna know how this match up sits? Stick figure sniper of low vitality and dubious lethality versus a land-sea tank of flesh, bone, and pure rage. Place your bets.

Yeah. I am _so_ not prepared.

Maybe if I had Zoro… but no. He's still on the boat, where I tied him up, probably captured already. And, considering that our last interaction was me hitting him on the head with a hammer and tying him up so he wouldn't get us noticed – a moot point in the end – I don't think he's that happy with me.

If he's still alive that is – I mentally slapped myself. Shut up, he's Zoro, he's fine. If he can tank Mihawk, he can tank anything.

Unless they aim at his injuries. Of which there are many. God, I hate that my voice of reason sounds so much like my voice of negativity.

Okay, recap.

For some reason, – okay, getting the Merry Go back is a bit bigger than just 'some reason' – we decided to follow Nami to this island. Some fishmen patrolling said island noticed us and captured our boat… and our swordsman.

And I've since misplaced Johnny, meaning I'm entirely on my own here.

I pressed up against the back of an overturned house, ignoring the crawling sensation of peeling paint on my skin. I rubbed my face, trying not to freak out more than I already am.

Alone on an island full of angry fishmen and creepy abandoned houses with no clear way of the island when – not if, when – everything goes to shit. Yeah. This is reclamation attempt is going _great_.

"Who the hell are you?"

I looked up at the massive corded chest of a fishman and then, after processing that, looked a little higher. Oh, hello very unhappy fishy.

I swallowed as I broke out in a cold sweat.

Well, then. Aren't I in the shit?

* * *

Sanji's ship is much more comfortable than the ferry I rode coming to the Baratie, but at the same time that's worse because now I'm invading someone else's space. Never mind that I was explicitly invited, never mind that everyone else is showing exactly how much manners count for in a pirate crew – answer; absolute jack –, never mind that I'm not actually doing anything that would bother me in a public setting.

It's just me and my anxiety, trapped in an eternal cycle of internal screaming.

"You okay?" Luffy asks around a mouthful of mid-afternoon snack.

I call it a snack, but Sanji has literally provided a feast. Luffy's appetite might justify it, but to me – the girl who gets by on a pack of ramen noodles and a slice of pizza per day when I remember to even eat – this is absolutely unbelievable. I've maybe seen this much food at weddings or church gatherings, but never anywhere else.

"Yeah, I'm fine," I lie with only the slightest bit of thickness in my throat to give away the fact that I am very not fine right now. Just freaking out over social situations instead of things that would make more sense, like Arlong Park and the massive potential ass-kicking contained therein.

I return to my sketchbook, drawing hand studies that have a certain predilection towards the webbed, clawed, and scaly. Arlong had 'rings' screwed into his fingers, didn't he? Because the webbing between them wouldn't allow for normal jewelry, so it was just the jewel faces permanently fixed to the bone.

My own fingers ached just thinking about it.

"So, yeah," Yosaku said around a mouthful of something vaguely vegetable, "the course Nami was following was towards the Conami Islands, which is under the rule of this pirate…"

"Arlong."

Sanji gave me a glance. "You know him?"

"Former member of the Sun Pirates, though common records probably have them down as the Fishman Pirates. The first captain was Fisher Tiger, who sacked and burned Mariejois while freeing the slave population. After he died, Jinbei took over and took a deal with the Marines so all the escaped fishman slaves could return to Fishman Island without government repercussion. The crew disbanded around that point, and Arlong brought his faction to East Blue."

Really, there was so much more history, but in the spirit of Strunk and White, I left out the unnecessary. We were on the clock and the lesson would be wasted on Luffy.

"Yeah, Jinbei's one of the Warlords of the Sea. Pirates on government pay." Yosaku swallowed his food. "Couldn't tell you what the current line-up is…"

"Dracule Mihawk, Jinbei, Sir Crocodile, Donquixote Doflamingo, Gecko Moriah, Boa Hancock, and Bartholomew Kuma," I recited. Within the next two years, at least half that list would be void.

"Huh. You're really smart, Laine."

Though it was coming from Luffy, who didn't really have a place to be judging, I smiled at the compliment. "I'm just good at memorizing trivia."

"Smart and cute! Do you know any 'trivia' about where we're going?" Sanji asked.

You're a savvy one, Sanji, underneath that chivalrous perversity. "The Conomi Islands, home to Cocoyashi Village, Gosa Village, and Arlong Park. You can guess who lives there." I dropped my sardonic tone as I continued, putting away my sketchbook so I could gesticulate properly. "Arlong's effectively owned the place for… eight, ten years? He's kept a fairly low profile, so between that and him paying off one of the local Marine Captains, his bounty's way lower than a Grand Line veteran's should be. Doesn't mean he's not dangerous, but he has been sitting on his laurels for a decade. There's rust on that blade, but that doesn't mean it can't still kill you."

I have the complete attention of everyone on the boat. Losing that respect in five, four, three, two…

I scratch the back of my head, breaking the spell. "And that's pretty much all I have. Arlong's a slaver, extortionist, and loan-shark on top of being a pirate, fishmen should be fought on dry land and not in the water, and we're probably going to have to fight everyone that Zoro hasn't already beaten up."

"Sounds like a plan!" Luffy said.

"No, it really doesn't," Yosaku said, face slightly ashen. "I mean, Arlong's sitting at… a 20,000,000 beri bounty? That's about as high as it gets in East Blue and you say that that's him keeping a 'low' profile. And Nami's going after him?"

They couldn't be more wrong- well.

I scratched my cheek as I thought about it.

Technically she was, in her own way, going after him. It was all an attempt to get rid of him and, if not for Arlong's other machinations, she would have managed it without much difficulty. So it was only fair that our monkey wrench fucking up Arlong's machinations would be the thing to set Nami free. Turnabout and all that.

Y'know, if we didn't all end up dying in the attempt.

"Well, he did require one of the Admirals to take him down back when he was still running the Grand Line… though I'm not sure if Kizaru was an Admiral at the time."

The Pika Pika Fruit was a broken bastard, though, so it wasn't like Arlong had stood much of a chance even against Vice Admiral Borsalino rather than Admiral Kizaru.

Luffy raised his hand. "Uh, I have a question."

"Yeah?"

"What's a fishman? I forgot to ask earlier."

…I'm going to have to draw diagrams for this.

* * *

**Usopp –**

* * *

This island is a nightmare.

Forget Gosa, the upside-down ghost town. Forget the fishmen – okay, let's not entirely forget them. The people, the supposedly normal humans, are nuts. A kid tries to stab me with a sword. A girl cracks my skull with a hammer. And then they drag me around, half-concussed and entirely out of it, to some house in the woods.

All after I try to save them from a fishman.

It's a twenty-beri horror story, that's what it is.

I sat up, pushing a blanket off of me. "Where am I?"

"My house," the hammer girl answered.

Rhetorical, rhetorical question, but it was an answer. Relax, Usopp. Be cool, be… okay, 'fearful gasp' is never going to translate as 'confident'.

She was sitting at a table, watching me. Dark skinned, dark eyed and blue-haired – my inner artist declared the shade periwinkle –, there was a crawl of swirling midnight blue tattoos over her collarbone and shoulders, tracing a heart a few inches above where the actual organ would sit. There was something familiar about her, but I'd never met this girl before.

Heck, this was the first time I'd met anyone with blue hair. Why would she be familiar?

"Why'd you hit me?" I asked.

She rolled her eyes and pulled out a chair for me to sit in. A cup of hot tea sat in front of it.

"You're an outsider, so you have an excuse for not knowing how things work around here. But you," she cast her cool gaze over to the sword kid from earlier, who was sitting on the other side of the table with his own cup of tea, "you're local. You know what happens to the ones who fight back."

The boy sniffled, rubbing at a darkening bruise on his cheekbone.

I tried not to squirm. This entire situation was… unsettling. I had no idea what I was in for. It was like jumping into the ocean for the first time at night. You knew nothing except the water was cold, deep, and dark.

"I know," the boy whispered, "but… my father's dead. Arlong… Arlong killed him."

Oh.

The blue-haired girl didn't look overly impressed. "So you'd throw your life away for that. Don't look at me like that, you know you don't stand a chance. Pipsqueak like you against Arlong, he'd squash you like a tick."

She leaned back in her chair.

"Throw away your life if you like, just don't do it in Cocoyashi. If you want to die so bad, do the rest of us a favor and don't drag us down with you." The cold gaze was back, this time entirely focused on the boy. "You don't have what it takes to suffer for revenge. Real revenge is cold, methodical. It can take years to pan out and you'll give up everything you are and have to get it. You, kid, don't have the guts for that."

I could feel her eyes drilling through the kid's very soul and she wasn't even looking at me.

"No. You just want to die, because you're too stupid to wait. That doesn't make you an avenger. Just a coward." She looked away, a silent dismissal. "Go home to your mom. She's probably worried about you."

The boy sniffled and ran out the door, leaving his tea and cheap sword behind. I stared at her.

"Don't look at me like that. You're an outsider, you don't know how things work here," she said, looking out the window. "I did the kid a favor."

"Well, you save my life, get me to safety, give me something to drink… I've had worse treatment from both my friends and my enemies," I said shakily, taking a sip of the tea. She'd saved my life and the kid's even if she'd done it in a cold and cruel manner. The tea had the slight flavor of orange peel. That was unique. "You're nicer than I'd expect for a chick with tattoos, even if you are scary as hell when you want to be."

"Piss off." She turned around. "Why are you here, anyway?"

I frowned. "There was a girl. Orange hair, navigator, and thief."

This seemed to surprise her. "Nami?"

Huh, that was convenient. Too convenient. "You know her?" I asked.

"She's local. My sister, to be exact."

Say what.

* * *

**Zoro –**

* * *

Looking up at Nami, I'd like to say I wasn't surprised by this turn of events. She'd introduced herself to me and Luffy by double-crossing us. Hell, we'd come to this island after her because she'd stolen the Merry. Being a member of an opposing crew was only a natural progression of betrayal.

I was tied up, my back to a pool. Easy access to the ocean, a natural design choice for a fishman base. There was only one real building, a pagoda-type construct that probably dwarfed any other building on the island, and the rest of the area was just paved stone.

"I'll ask nicely one more time," the saw-nosed fishman – Arlong, if I remembered my bounties right – said, "what was your purpose in coming to this island?"

"Well, I _was_ looking for a girl," I said, barely containing my snarl. Disdain was cold and my irritation with the fishman pirate was running hot, thanks to being both tied up and looked down on. "But since that question has been cleared up… I'm here to get my crew's ship back."

Nami, to what little credit I could give her, didn't react to my open hostility. A notch higher than the craven sneak-thief I'd initially taken her for, but that wasn't much of an improvement over her new title of 'traitor'.

Arlong smiled predatorily, showing off a set of teeth I'd last seen on a shark. "Ah, so you're the latest sucker to be taken in. Well, that's no slight against you; Nami's an entirely different breed. A superior being might not have fallen for it, but you can't help being human."

Hah. Like I'd come here to hear some idiot speech about racial superiority. "And you can't help smelling like cat bait," I sneered, "Cut the fat and get to the point, seaweed brain."

Nami shifted to lean against a pillar, an angle that gave me a very clear look at her left shoulder even if it gave her the luxury of not looking me in the eye.

For some reason, I'd assumed that she'd been unmarked. Hell, she'd only worn sleeved t-shirts before, there had never been an indication of ink. But there it was; a vicious jagged-edged swirl of deep sea blue, a near perfect match to the crimson tattoo on Arlong's left forearm.

If she was running a scam against Arlong – that small possibility was quickly dying in my mind –, it was one for the long haul, because even if you could get to a doctor with the skill, removing a tattoo of that size and design would leave obvious scars unless covered up with something equally large and distinguishing.

"That's a very unkind thing to say, but as a businessman, I can appreciate a man who doesn't waste my time." Arlong looked over to Nami. "He came after you, what do you think we should do with him? Hmm, Nami?"

"Drown him. Shoot him. Throw him out on his ass. Lock him up in the dungeon to starve," she rattled off lazily, walking towards me. "Once I've taken a sucker for all he's worth, I don't really care anymore."

The fishman burst out laughing. "You hear that? My navigator is utterly cold-blooded. You came here to save her from the big bad fishmen and she's my right-hand human! Ha!" Arlong leaned forward, his smile shifting from amusement to smugness. "Nami betrayed her family and village to join me –"

An expression of icy, pain-laced rage flickered across Nami's face, a lightning fast break in her haughty bearing that almost made me break face myself.

"– so what hold do you think you have over her?"

Mask. Façade.

I looked back at Arlong and smirked. "Hah. I don't."

Nami shifted, haughtiness staining with confusion. She couldn't have been more obviously saying 'where is he going with this' without saying it out loud.

"I never saw anything worth trusting in her in the first place. If she'd turned out to be a serial killer, I wouldn't be surprised." I tilted my head back, looking down my nose at the assembled pirates as well as a trussed up ex-bounty hunter can. "My captain made the call and it turned out to be the wrong one. So much for that."

The fishmen seemed amused by my 'summation', though Nami was fluctuating between irritation and something I couldn't read. "Why don't you get out of here then? It sounds like we don't have anything more to talk about and I am tired of looking at your ugly face."

"As you wish." With that, I pushed myself into the pool behind me.

* * *

One thing that's very easy to forget is that, generally, monsters are really, really fucking big.

Moomoo serves as an excellent reminder. Not that that stops the guys from beating the shit out of him, but still. The sea cow monster is massive in scale, if not in power… at least compared to Luffy or Sanji. I'm sure Moomoo is perfectly capable of murdering my ass.

That doesn't stop me from being endlessly amused that he's a goddamn sea cow in the most literal sense, because damn if Oda didn't come up with some hilariously cracktastic designs. Not to mention that somebody – Hachi, I bet – saw fit to put a fucking nose ring on this evolutionary travesty.

I mean, we're not much better, considering that we saw fit to put a lasso around one of his horns, but still. Maximum ridiculousity.

We're running at speeds I've maybe equated with drag-racing and supersonic flight, because the boat is skipping like a stone over the water as Luffy – fucking wonderful dumbass Luffy – tells our ride to go even fucking faster.

"Heeey! There's Arlong Park!" Luffy yells, about three seconds before the tether breaks and Moomoo throws us.

There are a few reactions to this development. Luffy is having the time of his life. Everyone else – myself included – settles for screaming and holding on to the boat and each other as we fly, first over the surf, then the beach, into the woods, into Zoro, and then into a cliff.

Hello, Zoro. Goodbye, Sanji's boat.

"What. The. Hell?" Zoro growled as he pried himself out from beneath the rubble formerly known as Sanji's boat.

Luffy dusts off his hat and his vest. "Hi, Zoro! Where's Nami? Ah, Usopp and Johnny, too."

Arlong Park, faking the dead, and five, four, three, two…

"BIG BRO!"

"Johnny!" Yosaku yelled.

"Yosaku!"

"What's going on?"

Johnny skidded to a stop. "Nami… Nami killed Usopp."

Zoro stared. "What?"

I peeled myself off the ground, gripping a loose spar as I prepared to make my way upright. Wait.

I felt my anchor. That's fabric. I felt it up a bit more. Hm.

That's a calf muscle. So this is… a leg.

Who in this crew is wearing pants?

"Are you okay down there, Laine?" Sanji asked from immediately above me.

Question answered. I let go as fast as humanly possible and, against my better logic and frayed nerve endings, stand up quickly. "Yeup, fine. Good, excellent. Everything is A-O-kay in L-Aine."

"I thought I told you guys to get lost."

Everyone looks up and there's no mistake in my mind about who this girl is.

Nami is alarmingly – heartbreakingly – young and, on a less depressing note, actually dressed with practicality in mind, which is surreal after years – from my perspective, at least – of… well, dramatically less practical outfits. In terms of raw color, she's more vibrant than I could have imagined, with orange hair that seems only a few degrees off from the color of tangerines and ocean sunsets. Like the others, her tanned – and freckled, a multitude of little spots like untraced star charts – skin spoke of a life spent on islands and the sea surrounding them.

But, no matter how hard I try not to look at it, that tattoo keeps drawing my eye back to it.

The story had never called attention the small spots of blue around the edges, signs of false starts on a struggling child, or the fact that the main body was as dark as fresh ink, despite being at least eight years old. No, that would have been superfluous detail, too much trouble to display in black and white. But when it's real, you see those things and wonder…

How many times did they remind her, needle-first, who owned her?

"We're not going to 'get lost'. You're our friend," Luffy said, as if it was the simplest fact in the world.

And in some ways, it was. Luffy's friendship wasn't complicated, much like everything else that came with him. If you had it, you had it, whether you wanted it or not. He didn't care about tragic backstories or dark legacies. He just cared about his friends and would bring down the world to protect them.

Nami folded her arms. She had a glove on her left hand – dark leather – and its very presence was conspicuous, not to mention the fact that she was avoiding moving it.

She'd stabbed through her hand to fake Usopp's death, I remembered, though a joke about a rubber knife tickled at my brain.

"Friends, huh? How pathetic." She flipped her hair. "I steal your ship, take your treasure, your actual friend is dead by my hand… and yet you still insist that I'm your friend."

Johnny stepped forward, hand slipping down to the handle of his sword. "Luffy, she killed Usopp!"

Nami smirked. "So you're going to kill me? Feel free to try. Arlong's in a killing mood on Zoro's account," her eyes glided over to the swordsman, who tensed, "Nice job beating up his entire crew, by the way… but let's not accuse Arlong of being picky where there's blood to be had. He's a Saw Shark Fishman after all."

She's talking big and scary, but there's a hollowness to her words, like she's running off of a bad script. Her eyes catch on me and I can tell that she's not impressed by what she sees. Skinny, twitchy, glasses, wearing too many layers for the East Blue climate.

"You should go home too, before you get killed," Nami says dismissively as she turns to leave.

"A lot of concern for someone who doesn't care," I said sharply, no longer able to sit silently and watch this… farce of an intimidation display. "I might understand the rest of the guys, but you don't even know my name. What's the life of a stranger to you?"

"You don't know a thing about me."

Oh, you'd think that, wouldn't you. I held back the urge to spit a reply because while I might be irritated – furious was a better word – with the situation, Nami isn't the root of it.

No. Arlong is.

And if I had the means to kill him, to make him suffer, I might've done just that.

"I've got eyes and ears," I said calmly.

* * *

**Nami –**

* * *

"But no common sense," I shot back at the girl.

She doesn't know me. That's what I keep telling myself because I don't like what I see in those dark eyes. Determination, anger… those are fine. It's the pity and the sadness aimed at me that I can't stand. It's like she's dissecting me from a distance, taking every word, every motion, and piecing together the truth.

Had Luffy picked her up at the restaurant? What the hell did this girl, this stick figure that dressed like it was halfway to winter, bring to the table?

I cut off that trail of thought. It wasn't my problem, I wasn't part of the crew anymore. Luffy could pick up whatever strays he liked.

It wasn't my problem.

I shrugged, slipping back into the careless act. "Anyway, I've warned you. If you go and get yourselves killed now, it's no skin of my nose."

"Tasteless witch," Zoro snarled.

"Hey, don't start shit," the cook – Sanji, the flirt – snapped back at the swordsman.

A small dispute broke out between them as they swiped at each other.

I rolled my eyes. God, some men were ridiculous. It was a useful predilection to stupid, when she needed to get something, but it got so annoying off the job.

"Hey. Get off this island. There's enough going on without you morons getting involved." I pointed my staff at them. "I'm sure you can find a navigator dumb enough to go to the Grand Line with you, so you can find the One Piece or whatever, but I'm done. Goodbye."

Luffy stared at me. I didn't look away.

And then his eyes rolled up back into his head. He fell backwards.

I'd stepped forward on reflex. Everyone had, clustering around Luffy even as he declared that he was sleepy and definitely not leaving.

Except for that girl. She just stood there and watched me with dark, sad, pitying eyes.

I grit my teeth. Dammit.

"Whatever! Just go ahead and die!" I yelled before I turned around and ran.

* * *

I sighed, looking up and down the road again. Usopp should be here soon.

Unless he was dead for real. I had my doubts – when didn't I have doubts? –, but nothing else had gone off the rails yet. Not without my direct involvement at least. And besides, if Usopp was dead, Nami wouldn't have injured her hand.

So, Usopp was still alive.

Not that Zoro seemed to think so.

"So, what, you think Usopp's still alive?" This question was aimed at Sanji, since I hadn't spoken a word on the subject. The swordsman adjusted his grip on his one remaining sword. "Fair enough."

Wait, they weren't disagreeing on principle? What was this madness?

Sanji raised his visible eyebrow.

Zoro shrugged. "Nami's a crook, sure, but small time. Murder's a pretty big step. Besides, I don't see her casually killing Usopp after going out of her way to save me twice."

"The fuck are you calling her small time?!" Sanji snapped as he tried to kick Zoro in the head.

"THAT'S WHAT YOU'RE UPSET ABOUT?" I screeched.

"Who's dead?" Usopp asked, right as he got caught between Sanji's foot and Zoro's fist.

Everyone froze, staring at the most-definitely-not-dead-as-of-two-seconds-ago sniper.

"He's alive!"

"Well, he was…" Zoro amended almost regretfully.

"Whaaaat!" Johnny and Yosaku yelled before tackle hugging the sniper. "Usopp!"

"Oh my god, I didn't almost drown to die here!"

I giggled at the sight of the bounty hunting duo crushing Usopp in inelegant blubbering hugs. It was cute, seeing teenagers – were Johnny and Yosaku teenagers? They certainly acted like it – acting like little kids, especially after they thought Usopp was dead.

And Zoro acting at least a little embarrassed about his involvement in the sniper's injury was kind of cute too, at least until Sanji started grinning like a fool about the subject.

And now they were fighting again. Okay, so that particular dynamic was going to be a fact of life for me.

Great.

I closed my eyes and let Usopp's story wash over me. Old news – fresh to them, but so old and sad to me – and I was waiting for my turn.

"…and that's what happened. I think she has some kind of hidden motive for working with Arlong, because otherwise, why would she put in that much work to keep me and Zoro alive without giving herself away?"

"Because they own her."

Every eye turned to look at me.

"They've been here for… eight years. Nami's local and talented, but they let her go afield to go steal things. Why?" I rose to my feet, tracing semi-circles in the dirt with the toes of my shoes. "Because they have a leash on her. They've marked her as their property. She gets to roam because they know she'll come back. The situation was carefully balanced. And then we arrived."

"We made the situation more complicated," Sanji said.

I looked up at the sky. The afternoon was growing warmer, though it wasn't uncomfortable yet. "Well, it was probably well on its way towards that, but yeah. We're the tipping point. Arlong wants to get her back under his thumb, we want her free. Something's got to give."

"So, what next? We're going to destroy Arlong Park?" Zoro asked.

That sounds like a great idea, even if Usopp immediately starts panicking.

"Just leave it alone."

I turn to look at the speaker. Nojiko – tattoos are a good identifier, as is her periwinkle blue hair and the ribbon in her hair – stands a few feet away from us, nearly the exact spot where Nami told us the same thing.

'Leave before you all get killed'.

"Nami's trying to buy the village, isn't she?" I asked, though I don't give Nojiko the chance to wipe the surprise off of her face before I continue, "Arlong cut her a deal and she's scrambling for the last bit of money it'll take for it. But you seem to forget that he's a pirate besides an extortionist. If he's not double-crossing you, you're not looking hard enough."

I ignored the feeling of shocked and confused gazes on me as something dark – hatred, bitterness because I know this dynamic, even if my situation hadn't been even a thousandth of the hell Nami had gone and was going through – churns in my chest. "He never intends to let her go. She's too useful a tool. Too good of an investment to let go before she's really paid off."

_You're a genius, don't waste it on art. Be a doctor. Be a lawyer. Get rich. Take care of your old man who makes no secret of how much he never wanted you in the first place._

I schooled myself, putting my own damage back in the box while looking Nojiko right in the eye. Dark eyes, deep sea blue-green instead of Nami's chocolate orange-brown – everything came back to oranges with her, didn't it? – unwilling to look away from mine even as I scared her with a truth she'd tried to turn a blind eye to.

Scary is fine, so long as they listened.

"You don't know what's at stake. What's happened here…"

Luffy walked past her. "I don't care about her past. I'm going to help her."

He wasn't here to listen to history and neither was I, so I followed.

* * *

**Nami –**

* * *

I am so tired. If I could, I'd go to sleep and stay there forever. Never have to make nice to Arlong again, never have to put myself in danger again. Just slip under and stop hurting forever.

But I can't.

I'm seven million beri short of that final goal. It's close enough I can smell it. And I'm not going to let a little thing like 'tired' get in the way of buying my village.

Not with just one more job left to go.

I won't let them down. I won't let Bell-mère down.

I sat upright, pushing the tiredness back down. The map was still here in front of me, worn and smudged from years of folding and unfolding. I could probably draw a more accurate one now, but this one… I traced the outline of my home island with my finger.

This map was special.

Something moved outside and anything resembling nostalgia or tiredness vanished. Feet, lots of them, moving in formation. Nothing good moved in formation.

I grabbed my staff and moved outside.

Genzo was there and behind him, Marines, all milling through the trees, poking at the dirt with swords.  
What the hell were Marines doing here?

The leader of the Marines looked around the orchard, looking over his men with an unimpressed eye. "Now, the stash would be here, if anywhere," he said, sneering at Bell-mère's trees before turning to yell at his men, "How hard can it be to find 93,000,000 beri?!"

I stared at them. I stared through them.

How… Arlong.

Something snapped.

ARLONG!

"You. Don't. Get. To. Touch. Anything!"

The Marine Captain turned, a smug grin on his face. I swung my staff around and removed it. He'd have to get some teeth replaced, but that wasn't any skin off my nose. I had bigger fish to fry.

Arlong.

There was no one else who could have done this.

_If you gather 100,000,000 beri, I'll give you Cocoyashi Village. We have an accord. I never break my word where money's concerned._

Like hell.

My teeth creaked as I ground them together.

Arlong!

ARLONG!

* * *

Someone, somewhere, was screaming.

It was the kind of nightmare scream that you occasionally heard in movies or TV, where there was nothing silly about it. Just an unholy sound that got into your bones and your soul to rattle everything inside like a passing freight train. To quote a certain movie that I've quoted in other quarters; that was the sound of ultimate suffering. Worse – if anything could be worse than that noise, that soul-shattering noise – nobody was reacting to it.

Well, Luffy had, if tilting his head to the side counted as a reaction, but so far as 'hearing horrible screams went', that was a pretty poor one. Hell, he might not have even heard it at all, instead reacting to some odd idea flitting about his rubberized skull.

Why did I hear it though? I wasn't the type to hallucinate. I'm pretty sure that 'the sound of distant screaming' wasn't part of my powers, bullshit as they were.

…was it Observation Haki? Coby had been the poor bastard to 'awaken' the ability at Marineford during the Summit War and all he had heard was screaming.

I sighed, waiting for the scream to stop – whatever was causing it didn't seem to depend on lungs, but despair never needed to take a breath – and for my chest to unclench. Why did trying to ignore the sound just leave me feeling worse? It's not like I could… I… we could do something about it.

We could stop Arlong. We would stop Arlong. We would pound Arlong into dust.

My knuckles popped as my fists clenched.

The screaming was getting closer. Nobody else seemed to hear it, not as they gathered up their makeshift weapons to gather in the street, ready to finally stand up to Arlong.

"Everybody wait!" Nami. She had a smile plastered on her face, the fakest I'd ever seen. The screaming followed her like a ghost, deafening. "It's not a big deal. It's not even that much money!"

The screaming – it was hers, I just knew it – was deafening, but I could still hear her lying through her teeth as clear as the sunlight coming down. "I've had it worse, really, it could never be any worse than back then…" She opened her arms wide. "Come on, I'm okay."

_I'm not okay!_

Genzo might not have heard the screaming, but he wasn't stupid. He stepped forward to hug the girl – too small, too young for this, even now – and whispered something in her ear that I could catch as easily as if it had been whispered in my own.

"You've done well, fought hard. It's our turn now."

The despairing pitch of Nami's soul kicked up another octave as she realized exactly what they meant to do.

Nami pushed back, pulling out a knife. "No! I won't let you! Not for me! You don't get to die for my sake!"

The mob passed around her like water, small congratulations accompanied by warm sunlight feelings – oh, so I could discern the mood of the crowd with more than just my eyes and common sense now, could I? What a useless ability – that did nothing to dispel her despair.

If anything, it deepened it.

All these people were going to their deaths, fully aware of what they were doing, for her sake.

She fell to her knees, twisted her grip on the knife, and started stabbing into her shoulder.

"ARLONG! ARLONG!"

Luffy grabbed her hand before she could stab into her shoulder for… would it be the eighth or tenth time? How many holes would she have put in herself just to get rid of that mark, that brand of ownership?

Nami looked up at him and then at me, her face tear-streaked and blotched from crying. "What do you want? You don't know anything about this."

"I don't," Luffy said.

I do.

"Do you know what's been happening here? Do you have any idea of the hell that we've gone through?"

"Nope."

Yes.

"Then why don't you leave?" She scratched her fingers into the dirt before throwing a clod of dust at Luffy. "I told you to leave! Get out of here! Go now!" Nami sobbed, "Just… go."

I wanted so badly to just reach out and make it better. To wrap her up in a blanket and take her someplace where nothing could hurt her. To do something to – just please – make it stop.

But that wasn't my place. She doesn't know me. But –

"Luffy," Nami whispered, "Help me."

– she does know him.

"Of course," Luffy says as he sets his hat down on her head. "Let's go!" he says, not to her, but to me and the rest of the crew, who'd arrived with the mob.

Time for a walk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh boy. This was an emotional rollercoaster. I had some other stuff in mind – one such scene is featured below – but a lot of it was a bit ambitious for a character with rather limited fighting skills and very little combat experience.
> 
> And I was trying to ease into the Haki thing (even the first chapter featured some use of it) but there was only so far you could really ease into something before naming it properly. So, yeah, a bit of an ability but so far just locked at the 'I've got a bad feeling about this' and 'hey, the world is made of screaming'.
> 
> Anyway, thank you for reading and I hope to have another chapter up soon!


	5. Deleted Scene

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Unfortunately, this didn't fit in with the story - both in direction and character - but it was too... fun writing it to delete it? Anyway, enjoy.

* * *

I pulled out my notebook and finally, finally broke eye contact as I flipped through for something suitable. It needed to be fast, it needed to be big, it needed to be able to scare the ever loving hell out of a piece of shit Marine skeezebag.

Mm. This would do.

I pulled on the drawing of the nightmare stag – I hadn't even watched Hannibal, I'd just followed the followers online – and ignored the flinch in the atmosphere as it materialized in 3D, spindle legs unshakably steady and thorny antlers stabbing upwards and out. It turned hollow glowing eyes around the group before kneeling in front of me.

I mounted it, praying that a half-remembered fieldtrip to a stable would keep this ride from going to the ultimate shit zone.

"Which way's Cocoyashi from here?" I asked as my stag stood back upright and I settled behind its shoulders. Okay, this wasn't so bad... of course this was standing still.

Zoro pointed one direction while Usopp – jaw slightly ajar because the one time he saw me do this was with a cute little robot, not a denizen of nightmares – pointed another.

I nodded to Usopp and set my Inkling running in that direction, even as I pulled my birds out of the book and sent them skyward to scan for the presence of orange trees and white suited Marines.

Other drawings would follow. My fingers tangled in the thick feather-laced fur of my stag's neck ruff. I wasn't much in the mood for mercy.


	6. Chapter 6

There's no talking as we make the short distance to Arlong Park. No banter. No jokes. No snappy one-liners. There's only the sound of shoe and sandal sole on packed dirt, every step steady and deliberate. There's no room for anything else; we came here for payback. Retribution with the interest of years piled on its back had no vacancy left for levity.

That's fine. I think everyone here is ready to kill Arlong or, at the very least, make him wish he was dead.

My own anger burns like a vial of bubbling acid, just barely contained but for the fact that I want to throw it in someone's face. Fear is a poor base against this kind of vitriol, but I do have enough self-control to save it for the ones who so richly deserve it.

The mob gathered at the gates of Arlong Park parts like water around us as Luffy comes to the gate. Johnny and Yosaku, looking like they'd gone three rounds on the wrong end of a heavy weight boxing match, stood up slowly. Had they tried to fight Arlong already? It seemed like their brand of impulsive behavior.

Luffy gives the gate – a solid looking piece of work of iron, stone, and clay that's easily three inches thick – half of an once-over before he punches it in. Three strikes, two fist-shaped craters, and then one open doorway, surrounded by the rubble that had just been in our way.

In America, kicking down a door like that would be a good way to get your head blown off. To be fair, it was probably the same in this world and with more justification, given that 'pirate', 'slaver', 'bandit', and 'corrupt law enforcement official' were valid career options… even if the last was just as American as political buffoonery and deep-fried apple pie.

But instead of instant retaliation with intent to dismember, Arlong and his crew simply settled for staring. Why wouldn't they be surprised though? No-one on the island had probably ever rebelled since the occupation started and, if they did, they weren't the kind of monsters who could look at a solid metal and stone gate and go 'meh'.

To be fair, I was staring a bit too.

My general experience with fish was either freshwater pan fish, frozen fillets, and pictures. I've never liked outdoorsy stuff, mostly because my experiences with outdoorsy stuff nearly universally involved being dragged out of the house against my will, mockery, being worked to exhaustion, cruel and unusual animal death, and a high chance of heatstroke. Fishing, while usually on the better end of outdoors experiences, ended with a hook embedded in a soft part of my anatomy more often than in an actual fish.

But that's not the point.

The point is fish are very clearly not mammalian, much less human. Scales are not skin. A lot of fish are very scary looking. And do not get me started on non-fishy aquatic creatures that don't play by the rules of bone and sinew or, god forbid, the deep sea fishes seemingly designed by H. R. Giger.

What I'm saying is; catching a five-inch blue gill at age eight does not prepare you for eight-feet-tall, literally-mountains-of-muscle fishmen. You cannot give a humanoid figure full-body scales, fins, gills, and species derivative features without punching some button on that 'uncanny valley' soundboard that most humans have somewhere parked between their conscious and unconscious mind.

I mean, from an artistic angle, this would be some really freaking boss design work, but in real life, it runs like Lovecraft meets reflexive racist thoughts… which would also fall under Lovecraft. Unsettling on an instinctual level, on both counts of 'unnatural fusion of fish and human' and 'huge scary guy in a prison shower room', which isn't fucking fair because I only want to hate these guys for what they do, not what they are.

Hachi's cool. Well, not right now. Later. Way later. He's a little cool now, but he'll be cooler when he has the Takoyaki stand and isn't hanging out with assholes. Even if him looking like an actual octopus is freaking me the hell out on like twenty different levels.

Arlong is terrifying for different reasons. It's not just because of the sawblade nose or the sharp teeth, but because those sharp teeth are set in an expression that universally translates as cruel. To him, humans are nothing, less than nothing, unless they have something he wants. Money. Talent. Anything that's a resource that he can drain dry. And then, when he's taken all he can from them, he'll discard them like an empty juice box and move on to the next victim, like a lamprey.

And like lamprey, Arlong was an invasive species in a body of water completely ill-equipped for his existence.

"Which one of you is Arlong?" Luffy asked.

Arlong unfolded himself like a wrecking ball crane, rising slowly out of his beach chair, his Hawaiian shirt and beach wear another level to the incongruity that was the fishman's very existence. He's fucking massive and, unlike quite most of the fishmen in his crew, not covered in scales. This is little comfort, because I know – from books, not real experience – what sharkskin is like. The same scales, just taking cues from sandpaper rather than snakes. There are a few silvery-pink scars interrupting the deceptively velvet appearance of his drowning blue skin, but once again, it's the tattoos that grab my attention.

Well, the mark of the Sun Pirates is a brand, burned a silver-streaked red even more than ten years after it was applied, but his own mark is a different red, the kind derived from pigment rather than hot iron. The exact mechanics of how one tattoos scales, let alone sharkskin, is beyond me.

"That would be me."

Arlong's face had slid into a slimy salesman type smile. Disarming and confident, the hard edge of a shark scenting blood – what an appropriate analogy – hiding just beneath the surface, all too obvious to the discerning eye. It matches his gravel and sandpaper growl; disarming words out of something unmistakably and irrefutably dangerous. For all the tropical print shirts that surround us, I'm not reminded of a slow vacation on some sunny shore.

No.

I'm reminded of the fact that in nature, bright colors and patterns mean 'poison'.

* * *

 

**Luffy –**

* * *

 

This Arlong guy is big and I don't need to be smart to know he's tough. But he hurt one of my crew. And that's more than enough reason to beat his face in.

"My name's Luffy."

Arlong tilted his head, looking down at me. It's probably not hard for him, since he's almost twice my size.

"Luffy, huh? And what are you supposed to be?"

"A pirate," I say, because that's the truth.

Two fishmen moved in front of me, saying something about 'talking to them first'. They're in my way, so I move them out of my way. Headfirst and into each other before I step over both of them and punch Arlong. He flies off of his feet, bouncing off the cement a few times before slamming into the far wall of the park.

I don't look at his crew. I can hear their surprise, the idea that a human can send a fishman, send Arlong flying with a single punch.

It doesn't matter. He's not done yet and I'm not either.

"What… who the hell are you?" Arlong asks again. He sounds surprised.

This guy must not be paying attention.

"Monkey D. Luffy, future Pirate King and the guy who's gonna kick your ass for making our navigator cry." I cracked my knuckles.

The fishmen – except Arlong, who's sitting and watching – jump at me. I don't need to move because Sanji is already there, kicking them down before they can even try to hit me.

"Back off, you're out of your league," Sanji said around his cigarette before turning to me. "Did you have to run on ahead of the rest of us?"

"I can handle it. These bozos aren't anything."

Sanji rolled his eye. "Hey, did I say anything about being worried? There's no need to hog all the action. Let the rest of us have a slice."

"Oh." That's fair, I guess.

"You can take my serving if you like," Usopp said.

"Chicken. You don't see me running away from a fight," Zoro cut in.

"See you bleeding all over everything," Laine said quietly. Zoro ground his teeth.

"That was against Hawkeye Mihawk, the greatest swordsman in the world!" he yelled.  
"So what was Cabaji then?" I asked.

"And the Nyaban brothers?" Usopp added.

"Shut. The. Fuck. Up. And. Fight."

Laine laughed a little at that, a 'snik-snik-snik' sound that sounded more like scissors than people, before her face fell back into a flat frown.

"'Your' navigator?" Arlong asked, before laughing. "Hah! She's mine, and I'm not exactly inclined to give up a valuable resource like that to humans like you! Hachi! Kuroobi, Chuu!"

A few fishmen stepped forward. A big octopus guy with six arms, a grey guy with a pony tail, and… a blue kissy face guy?

Weird.

"Orders, captain?" Zoro asked, drawing his sword.

"Yeah, which seafood platter do you want?" Sanji asked as he knocked the ash of his cigarette. "The calamari, the smelt, the ray, or the shark?"

"Wait, I thought Chuu was an archerfish fishman…" Laine muttered.

Anything else was interrupted by a rush of bodies that weren't Arlong. I planted my feet in the cement and twisted, punching them all away.

I looked down at Arlong. "The main event. Duh. I didn't come here to beat down cronies."

Arlong bared his teeth at me. I stuck my tongue out at him.

And then the octopus guy summoned the sea cow.

* * *

 

**Usopp –**

* * *

 

Fuck this, fuck that, fuck everything.

Fishmen pirates was pushing the line of 'things I might survive'. Vicious sea monsters under the command of said fishmen pirates was way on the other end of that because I. Am. Just. A. Normal. Dude. While Luffy, who just scared and beat the shit out of said monster, is definitely not.

Seriously, how am I supposed to compete with that? 'Oh sure, he can fucking toss a ten ton fish-beat like nothing, but watch me hit the spire of your flag from two hundred meters with a sling-shot, you'll totally be impressed'. Especially when I'm on the same team as 'let's fight fucking Hawkeye Mihawk, almost get cut in half, lie down for a few hours, and then get in even more fights' and 'I don't even need my hands to wreck your shit so enjoy the taste of shoe sole'.

Heck, I didn't know anything about the new girl, but I bet that 'bring drawings to life' was head and shoulders over what I was capable of whipping out.

I'm just saying, this slingshot is feeling awfully inadequate in the face of all that, especially since it's that against that blue fishman who captured me earlier.

And let's just say that he does not look happy at my not-dead status… or my hitting him with my rubber band captain. There's probably a list by now.

I jumped back from the series of craters that sprang up in the pavement around my feet and then started dancing as even more appeared. And now I was back to the 'fuck this' brainwave. This guy could spit water – water! I'd never look at a canteen the same way again – like bullets.

Against me, the slingshot sniper.

Fuck this. I want to live.

* * *

 

Shit. I was way in over my head. Okay, time to listen to my common sense.

I stepped back, trying to gauge a good distance while flipping open my fullest sketchbook. Away from the water was a must, definitely, but not so close to the mob – they shouldn't be watching this close, this wasn't pay-per-view – that they stood a chance of getting caught in the crossfire.

Alright, what was I up against? What did I have to work with?

Not muscles for sure. These were fishmen, capable of surviving in the crushing depths of the ocean at 10,000 meters below sea level. I'm a squishy human, probably the squishiest in the crew. On top of that, I had zero in the way of actual martial arts skills and my powers were best used at range.

My eyes skittered from one figure to the next as Luffy pummeled the small fry. So how would that work out?

Well, it entirely depended on who came after me, of course. Mooks wouldn't have a high enough command of Fishman Karate to whip out the water bullet technique, but the top four quite possibly would, being Grand Line level.

So, going on the usual chain of events – e.g. the worst possible outcome – who did I have to watch out for?

Hatchi didn't strike me as having any ranged ability, unless he was possessed of some kind of ink shot, but Chuu seemed half based around that particular skillset. Kuroobi and Arlong were grey areas, since both were strong – Kuroobi had boasted of his ranking in Fishman Karate, I remembered that, though exactly what that rating was would remain a mystery until the arrogant fuck opened his mouth to announce it – and experienced enough for such an ability.

There were too many unknown factors and I didn't have any time to feel them out. Well, might as well roll with the punches and accept the numbers the dice give you, like every other person on the planet.

I flipped through my notebook, half-paying attention to the black scribbles dancing beneath my fingertips as the pages flew.

I didn't know how strong my bigger drawings would be or how that strength would match up to the natural power of a fishman. I myself wouldn't last half a round unless someone decided to make my beating an extended study in pain. I could try what I did at the Baratie, overwhelming numbers of fast moving, highly acrobatic annoyances, but again, the question of power came into play.

That was against human enemies. Would a fishman – ten times as strong as the average human by default – even notice?

The buzzing hum of calculating thought process stuttered into a storm of question marks as Usopp bumped into me. I just barely avoided dropping my sketchbook as his arm hooked one of mine and turned me around full circle.

Less than three feet away, a crater came into instantaneous existence in the stone wall surrounding the park.

In the synchro reserved for fictive universes, our heads slowly pivoted to look at Chuu.

The duck-faced fishman tsked. "Luck still favors the stupid I see, chu."

His stance shifted and I knew what the next words out of that weird ass mouth would be.

'But this time I won't miss.'

Chu.

In perfect synchro, we shivered, turned, and ran. Stonework exploded around is as the shots came in closer. One even grazed my hand hard enough that I knew, instantaneously, that it would bruise. If I survived the hunt, that was.

We jumped through Luffy's formerly-a-door hole-in-the-wall, past the mob – so much for being 'heroic saviors' – and started running down the winding path that twisted through the rice paddies. Usopp twisted around to fire a parting shot – the words 'Exploding Star' are always beautiful – before resuming the escape.

* * *

 

**Luffy –**

* * *

 

Once I was done with the sea cow – Mohmoo? That was a silly name – I tried to pick up my left foot.

Hmm. Wasn't working.

I tried to pick up my right foot.

It wouldn't move either.

Mmm. This could be bad.

As Arlong broke the stone around my feet and threw me into the ocean, I thought about it again.

Yeah. This was definitely bad.

* * *

 

We are definitely fucked.

Chuu is maintaining a steady presence on our tail, we have very limited offensive capability – between my cannon fodder at command and Usopp's near literal joke bag, there wasn't even enough to make a Home Alone sequel –, and I'm definitely reaching the end of my stamina, if the horrible stitch in my side and my physical desire for the abrupt cessation of my existence is any indication.

Usopp, on the other hand, isn't even winded.

And he doesn't consider himself a monster.

If I had the breath to spare, I'd laugh. Unfortunately, this is the moment that my legs decide to collapse and introduce me to gravel at my top speed.

Usopp skids to a stop. A real coward, a craven irredeemable coward would have kept running. Considering that the most Usopp does is hide behind a tree, a tree that's not even twenty feet away, that's a good thing. I think.

I think I'd be more appreciative if my hands weren't torn up by the experience and an angry fishman wasn't fixing to pound me the rest of the way into the grave.

A solid kick to my side sends me rolling again, accompanied by the sound of a single, dull crack that also hurts like a motherfucker. Ghh.

Hello again, Chuu.

The fishman looks down at me with exactly the level of condescension I expect from one of Arlong's men. "You're weak for a human. Chu."

"And you're pathetic for Sun Pirate."

Okay, I'll admit I get mouthy when I'm in a bad position. My dad once cracked my jaw for calling him a son of a bitch and my reaction was to step up for round two. I've always been crazy like that in the face of physical threat. Maybe it's some inherited berserker trait that was more useful for members of the family over five foot six. Maybe I've just got an incredibly warped threat response.

This doesn't change the fact that I'm insulting a guy who is ten times stronger than the average human by default. And now I'm being held up in the air by my shirt, which hurts more than I expected. Having your entire weight digging into your armpits does that, I guess.

His knuckles crack as his grip on my shirt tightens. "Care to repeat that, chu?"

"Why? Got water in your ears?" I spit, "I'm just commenting on how far you've sunk from Fisher Tiger's crew to being a slaver. It's a long ways, from my view. Freeing slaves to branding children as your property. Wonder what 'Tai' would say to that."

I'm about two point three seconds from imminent, painful death when an egg – a fucking egg, why Usopp – flies past my ear and right into Chuu's face.

I'll say this for the pucker-faced fishman – his composure cracked faster than that eggshell, because that's all it took for him to drop me. An egg to the face.

If my ribs weren't cracked, I might have laughed. But I was reaching… a weakness, reaching, but I needed to touch my page to bring my drawings to life.

Just the edge of the page was enough though, and a streak of black followed my fingertips to throw itself in Chuu's face, ink splattering and sticking where egg had previously run. Enjoy temporary blindness, fucker.

I pushed myself to my feet, ignoring the gravel embedded in my hands – I'd done this before, this wasn't new pain – as I threw myself into the forest.

Usopp was sitting behind a tree about three feet to my left, panicking. I knew the feel, though my panic sessions were normally over exactly what kind of script I had to use to get in and out of talking to strangers rather than how to stave off immediate horrible death.

"I DON'T NEED TO SEE TO END YOU LITTLE SHITS!" Chuu yelled before something… splashed? Oh, yeah. Rice paddies. Water. Fishman. Water bullets.

A section of far-too-close forest exploded into splinters and mulch. Usopp squealed. I settled for a strangled 'audio feedback' sort of noise.

How did Usopp get out of this one again?

Oh, right. Applied kitchen chemistry and hammer time.

I didn't have any of those things and the guy who did...

I looked over at Usopp, who was still staring in shock at the destruction.

Yeah.

I reached for another sketchbook, wincing at the dampness that met my fingers. Definitely have to dry everything out later, then figure out some way around that weakness. For now, kick what ass I can.

I pulled on the edge again, feeling ink at all of my fingertips before I twisted around the tree – ow ow ow – and threw them at the fishmen. Black liquid flechettes flew at him, some bursting into ink as they slammed straight into Chuu's chest while others merely scratched at the edges of his body. These I pulled on again, turning anonymous ink into black birds.

Huh. Suppose I had a motif going on now. Or I had filled my sketchbooks with far too many crows.

The Inklings circled back around, not nearly as fast as they'd been in bullet form, but now capable of controlled flight. Chuu was still blind, I wasn't doing any damage, and the sniper who won this fight originally was hiding behind a tree.

Oh, and for some reason, I was still standing out in the open like an idiot with a busted rib and zero tanking ability. I ran back to cover next to Usopp, clutching at my side.

Now what?

"Usopp, a little help please?" I hissed.

"What do you expect me to do?"

"A little more than paint him black!" I snapped, before grimacing.

"He didn't kick you that hard, did he?"

"Cracked rib. Not the first time I had one," I ground out, "I'll live."

"I really don't think so," Chuu said as he kicked the tree we were hiding behind in half. He caught the upper portion easily, turning around to glare down at us through red rimmed eyes.

Well. Fuck.

"Exploding Star!" was the only prelude to Chuu bursting into a lot flames.

Did I ever mention that those are very beautiful words? And wait… my ink was – oh right. Recipe called for lighter fluid and rubbing alcohol, of course it was fucking flammable.

That could prove useful in the future.

Chuu ran wildly down the road, screaming for water as flames licked up and down his body. Usopp chased after him, pulling a hammer – oh god, the hammer – out of his bag of tricks. Oh boy. Oooooh boy.

I slowly stood up and leaned against a still standing tree. No way I was missing this show.

"USOPP HAMMER! USOPP HAMMER! USOPP HAMMER! Rubber band of doooom! USOPP HAMMER, USOPP HAMMER, USOPP HAMMER!"

After the beating extended way past the necessary, Usopp stood up, arms spread wide as he fell backwards into the water of the rice paddy.

"I… won! I am a brave warrior of the sea!"

I smiled. Sure you are.

* * *

 

We return just as Luffy snaps free of the ocean, flying into the air like one of the rockets he named his two-fisted attack after. The park has become a demolition zone and this fight will be the one to finish the transformation into rubble, complete with the dreams of an Arlong Empire that went with it.

And Arlong knows it.

It takes him so little time to lose his shit that it's no longer Luffy putting holes in the building, it's all Arlong. Biting through support beams, punching through walls… all in an attempt to kill one rubber man. It's not quite a berserker rage, Arlong wouldn't be talking – explaining how this and that made him a superior being as if he wasn't so obviously losing – if he was going full berserk, but there's no real thought process beyond 'destroy'.

It just happens to be the building rather than his intended target.

Not that Luffy's avoiding the mauling. His clothes are ragged with bite marks and there are too many rings of punctures poking through his flesh, but 'quit' isn't quite in our captain's vocabulary.

'Fuck you' and variations thereupon are entirely a different story, because if there's anything that destroying a room that represented nothing but profit to Arlong and nothing but misery to a friend can translate to, it's 'Fuck you'.

Arlong Park falls and the pain in my side and my hands doesn't even matter. Those are transcendental in the face of pure catharsis. The only thing that will beat this in the end is the end of the next arc. And that one will be eclipsed by the one after that and so on until the One Piece is found.

And, if I live that long, I might spontaneously combust out of pure awesome.

It'll be worth it, I decide, as the crowd bounces Luffy above their heads, a huge smile plastered on his face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, this chapter took a while, not just because I was occupied elsewhere. But, I will be answering questions, so please ask anything that might have occurred to you and I will answer them to the best of my ability in a future chapter.
> 
> Yes, that means SBS. So, yeah, send in your questions.
> 
> Deleted scenes are NOT CANON (as far as the continuity of this fic goes). Deleted scenes are 'deleted' mostly because they're either too advanced for the character's current level, too silly for the fic, or didn't fit in well with the plot, but were too good not to share. Thus, they are deleted scenes.
> 
> This chapter's deleted scene was removed in part because I shared Laine's discomfort with using Fisher Tiger's image against his former crew and because it really didn't do Usopp the justice his original scene in the manga did. By which I mean balancing personal drama with gut-busting hilarity.
> 
> Rubber band of dooooom.


	7. Deleted Scene

**Usopp –**

* * *

 

In a fight against this fishman, I had the new girl – Laine? She'd introduced herself on the Baratie, I think, but that felt like weeks ago rather than a day – on my side. Two against one felt like good odds. After running far enough – the fishman wasn't even close now, though if he gave up that easily I'd eat my bandana – I pulled her behind a tree.

"Okay. You have a Devil Fruit power, right? Bringing drawings to life. So this fights in the bag." Please say yes, please say yes.

She wheezed for a minute, clutching at an obvious stitch in her side that made me feel a little bad about not being winded at all. "Wouldn't say that," she finally got out.

My smile froze on my face as I broke out into a cold sweat against the sizzling warmth of the afternoon.

Oh fuck. I pressed up against a tree trunk, trying to think of another plan. Well, maybe we could hide –

"There's no point in hiding! Chu."

So much for that idea. Maybe I could fake my own death.

Yeah, that seemed good. Would have to take a hit or two, but I had some Ketchup Stars on hand for that.

"Use what you've got."

"What?"

Laine – I was sure that was her name – wasn't gasping as heavily now, though she was still favoring her left side, pulled out a sketchbook. "My Inklings can't take much of a hit, but they do make a good distraction. What can you do with that?"

What can I do? What does she expect me to do? I can't fight a fishman on his own terms…

A lightbulb went off in my head. It wasn't an entire brainwave, but at least it was something.

"Can you draw something that looks like me?"  
She frowned, though the fact that she pulled out a pencil all the same was reassuring. "Crunch time doesn't promise much for likeness…"

"You said 'use what you've got'." I grinned, feeling slightly more confident now that the seeds of a plan were starting to come together. "And Devil Fruit bullshit, even if it's not 'insta-kill', is still Devil Fruit bullshit."

She snorted, not arguing the point as a loose sketch – it was a fair likeness, even it was a bit cartoony from this angle – started to pull together into something more tangible.

Apparently this was enough, as she pulled the picture out of the page and into real life. It didn't look exactly right – like a reflection in an old dust-covered and stained mirror, desaturated and slightly distorted – but it quickly took a pose and declared, "My name is Usopp, king of snipers and brave warrior of the sea!"

That wasn't a bad line. Didn't think my voice was that squeaky, but hey, she said it was a rush job.

"He can't take more than one solid hit, so make it count."

She pulled out a few more sketchbooks as soon as my doppelganger was solid, the flipping pages showing flashes of color and lines that made the sketch that went into my double look like the product of… well, a complete and total rush job. One book was open to a full body portrait of a massive fishman with red skin and a fierce expression. He was wearing a striped shirt that hung open to show off a sun shaped brand identical to that I'd seen on some of Arlong's men.

Who was it? When had she drawn him? Where had she gotten the time to shade and color it if they'd only come to Conami today?

Laine looked up at me, a hard glint in her eyes. "You and Thing Two buy me a few minutes and I'll show you some real bullshit."

I swallowed as the noise of a tree being uprooted and thrown at its brothers came from far too close. Dare to be stupid, I guess. Hopefully her 'real' bullshit was worth it.

* * *

 

Initially I wasn't going to do this. I'd drawn the picture for pleasure and used it again when 'teaching' – that word felt so inadequate for throwing words and ideas at a rubber man and praying they'd stick – Luffy about Fishmen. It wasn't going to be one I actually used, because the very idea was just so...

There's pragmatism and there's kicking the dog and using Fisher Tiger's image still feels a little too close to column B, but honestly? I'm past being nice when it comes to Arlong and his men.

Fisher Tiger was a slave. He climbed up a ten thousand high sheer cliff to break into Mariejois for the exclusive purpose of freeing the slaves there and sacking the gilded shithole. He formed the Sun Pirates to protect the slaves that couldn't go back to Fishman Island.

For members of his crew to turn around and become slavers themselves… well, the word 'pissed' seemed a few thousand degrees too cool to properly describe my rage. I don't imagine Fisher Tiger would be too happy himself, but I'm a decade too late for his input.

I'd like to think he'd be on my side with this. I'd like to think that if he was here, he'd be kicking the shit out of Arlong and Kuroobi and Chuu too. But he's dead and buried far away from Cocoyashi. And I'm here, making a drawing of him sing and dance to my tune. It's not his body, but it doesn't stop the feeling of pulling his image into reality from feeling like a less sweaty version of grave robbing, but hey. I'm good at guilt, particularly the unwarranted kind.

The Usopp Inkling was running Chuu around, just barely avoiding getting splattered by the fishman's crushing blows.

Why hadn't Chuu used his water bullets? … No time to refill, I realized, as I pulled out more drawings. Once he got the chance, though – and wasn't there enough of that, considering that we were surrounded by rice paddies – the Inkling was graphite dust.

I gave a glance to my creations. Fisher Tiger stood in front of me, larger than life as I knew it, a couple of birds that hadn't gotten splattered on the Baratie perched on his shoulders while a selection of snakes coiled around his forearms.

Yeah, this was fine. They wouldn't be able to take a hit, but I wasn't here for a slugging match.

I sat down beneath the tree and 'looked' through Inksop's eyes and then on into Chuu's, which were obscured by an abrupt explosion of glass, what could only be alcohol, and then, after a moment, fire. Still alive, then. I smiled – it felt cold – and directed the rest of the horde to join the fray.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See? That was a little too much. Too dark. Too overpowered. Couldn't go anywhere from there. So it's not canon.


	8. SBS

**Okay, SBS Activate! PREPARE FOR BLABBER!**

* * *

 

**TEAMWORK?**

I am not in collaboration with anyone involved in the creation of This Bites! (though I find that story particularly enjoyable). Luck Of The Draw, like just about everything I do, is preformed solo and very little planning ahead (there's some, but usually that's just my brain going ahead to my favorite movies / arcs and Thriller Bark is a long ways a way yet).

* * *

 

**ARTWORK?**

I might incorporate some into the AO3 edition of the story. It's not over likely, since I haven't been in a drawing mood lately, but weirder things have happened. I wouldn't hold my breath on it though.

* * *

 

**REFERENCES?**

There are some, obviously, but you might find other turns of phrase that I put down without actually realizing that it was a reference.

The MCR one referenced by a guest was one of those.

The Homestuck one was deliberate, Hiezen. I was excited over the last update (and there's a watercolor picture by my desk of that scene that I did like three years ago).

* * *

 

**ZORO NOIR?**

I figured that it fit with Zoro, considering that he used to do bounty hunter stuff solo. He's smarter than you'd think, even if he's straight forward in action. Plus Zoro always ends up with a VA that would be great for Noir style monologues, so yeah. Good shit.

On a related note, Luffy voice is still getting the kinks knocked out of it.

* * *

 

**ASK AND YOU SHALL RECEIVE, C2T2**

* * *

 

**Chuu –**

* * *

 

At the start of the day, a couple of revolting humans would just be a passing annoyance. But the joke was so far past the point of funny.

I took another swing at the long nose punk, but the little shit jumped just out of the way again. "Stay. Still. Chu."

"So you can kill me quicker? That's some great incentive there," the kid said before pausing, a blank look passing over his face. A smirk passed over his face. "You know what? Go for it."

He spread his arms wide, inviting the last strike.

This was such a trap. But for the chance to actually kill this punk for real… It wasn't like East Blue had anything that could put a scratch on me. My knuckles cracked as I gave the kid a sucker punch that would have broken a battleship.

The kid exploded. That was what I expected. Exploding into choking dust instead of gore, less so.

Any thought on what or how the fuck that happened was dismissed by the huge fist that came out of the grey cloud, sending me flying back through the air and skidding into the gravel.

They had another member? What?

The dust cleared further and my blood chilled.

Boss Tai?

The ghost of a man long dead didn't look at me with anything I'd describe as 'kindness' as he crossed the gap between us – as fast as I remembered, maybe faster – and sent me flying again. He looked the same as he did a decade ago, the same clothes, the same bandana… and the same look he got on his face when he cornered a slaver.

Something popped in my chest, but it felt miles away.

Fisher Tiger was here. Fisher Tiger was dead. Fisher Tiger was kicking me again, back through the broken gates of Arlong Park.

I skidded across the broken pavement before rolling to a stop, trying to understand. Why was Tai doing this?

They were just humans.

"Fisher Tiger?" "Tai?" "Boss?"

A heavy foot came down on my back and I felt my spine give in too many places.

Why didn't he say anything? He was real enough, otherwise the rest of the crew wouldn't be reacting to him, but why wasn't he saying anything?  
Weren't we his men? Didn't we stand by his side as he fought against the world?

The pressure lifted as Tiger moved again, slamming Kuroobi and then Arlong into the ground faster than the eye could properly follow and hard enough to leave impact craters measurable in meters.

Kuroobi didn't get back up.

A decade dead and he was still stronger than all of us combined.  
"Why, Fisher Tiger? We were only making our own place in the world…" Arlong began to ask before a punch to the mouth – to the teeth – silenced him.

I could see black blood leaking from Tiger's knuckles, dripping down to broken stone as the bones flexed beneath his scales. The last time I'd seen it, it had been red. Red and everywhere.

"How. Dare. You."

The snarl was low and quiet, like the roll of distant thunder. A promise of destruction.

Why?

"You wear that mark and you take slaves?" Tiger snarled again, fingers closing around Arlong's jaw. "You honor my death, my pain, by becoming that which I despise most in this world?"

The crack as those fingers slowly, inexorably closed was deafening.

"Branding children. Enslaving an entire island. My grudge against humans may be something I cannot escape but you've gone far beyond anything I could ever tolerate."

"But we were your comrades."

Arlong's body abruptly relaxed - unconscious or dead? – and Tiger threw him to the side like so much garbage.

"You're no comrade of mine, slaver."

* * *

 

**PARADOX ASKS THE BURNING QUESTIONS**

 

_ 1) Will Laine's past have an impact on the story, beyond how it affects her now? Does she have a character arc planned? _

Yes. I'm planning on bootstrapping at least one filler arc for that purpose, but as to character arc… I'm not actually certain where I'm going, aside from a few of the movies and fillers.

_2) How severe will deviations from canon be?_

Ah… I'm treating Laine as something of a rock thrown in a pond. Small ripples at first, gradually growing larger and more distinct as they move outwards. I do know for a fact that I will be featuring a number of One Piece OCs that never made it to any of my other fics (though how far I want to deviate from canon is up in the air, to be perfectly honest, because I don't plan much ahead).

_3) Do you have any original arcs planned? Will you do anything with anime-only arcs?_

At the moment, no (though I've had a couple ideas). Merely variations upon established themes, but that's because that's what I'm thinking about. But anime specific arcs and movies are fair game (though exactly when and where they appear might shift, according on how I change the canon chain of events).

_ 4) Will Laine try to actively change things she knows will happen? _

Probably. At the moment, she doesn't seem to realize that she has this ability – part of her general belief in her powerlessness, but it's a matter of time before she starts actively trying to fuck things up.

_ 5) What are the limits to her power? How many Inklings can she make? What other effects does the type of drawing (sketch, etc) have on the resulting Inkling? How about drawing material or surface? _

See the extensive article I wrote on the Sketch Sketch Fruit below.

_6) Does she want to learn how to fight herself?_

I think she knows how to scrap a bit, given her history, but it's not much by Grand Line standards (or even East Blue standards, if we're being brutally honest here) and Laine isn't much of a 'direct violence' person naturally, though she'll see the sense in learning how since she's a pirate now. If/when she does learn anything, it'll have to be something that keeps her hands relatively safe and unoccupied while accommodating the fact that Laine is support unit and ranged fighter at best.

_7) Can other OCs reach the OP world the way that Laine did?_

Through the whims of an author with no other projects turning out? Probably.

Less joking answer – yes. Other OCs of mine, whom Laine (being a pale reflection of myself) will recognize to a degree, will appear (how is somewhat vague, but I'm leaning towards a deviation of the Canon at the moment).

_8) What's Laine's favorite drawing material? Time of day? Color?_

Laine prefers ink pen and smooth clay-blend paper (better known as printer paper), though the second is in somewhat short supply in the One Piece world. She still goes for the smoothest texture that she can get. She's less specific about her ink, as she'll take both store bought and homemade, of which I referenced the 'flammable recipe' (found that on the internet myself), though she's conserving her gel pens, since those are in somewhat short supply locally.

Aesthetically speaking, she prefers twilight and later (Laine is very fond of stargazing). She's not a morning person, but a favorable atmosphere helps.

Her favorite color is navy blue, though she rarely wears it (she likes dark colors and the various shades of blue in general). Her red scarf has sentimental value, besides being very comfortable.

_ 9) What role does Laine fulfill in the Straw Hat family? _

Either oldest daughter or live-in cousin. Somewhat standoffish and shy, but gets drawn into craziness quickly and protective of her family (sometimes to her detriment).

If we're not referring to that SBS question, I'd say she serves as a sounding board or tactical fighter, but that'll only count after she builds a rapport with the rest of the crew.

* * *

 

**THE SKETCH SKETCH NO MI / SKETCH SKETCH FRUIT**

The Sketch Sketch no Mi is governed by three main things – the user's will, drawing skill, and imagination. The size of the drawing has little impact (though the size can affect how much detail said drawing has), though a larger Inkling (say a stag or a dragon) would naturally take bit longer to scale up, especially if it came from a very small drawing.

The strength of an Inkling is defined by the amount of time and effort (emotional / mental investment is part of this) invested in it, the Inkling's will is an extension of the user's, and the user's imagination and subconscious mind 'scripts' how the Inkling interacts with the world.

Not to say that Laine could draw a stick-figure and 'imagine' it with the power of a god. It would have to be something she could subconsciously get behind, like the difference between a flat boring character doing awesome things without reason or a character who would (in their own world) be able to do those things because that's what they do (a knight would know how to swordfight (to a point, see below), a snake would know how to move by slithering, birds know how to fly, so on and so forth).

Alternatively, if Laine has a skewed idea of how powerful a character is, that would also be displayed as increased effectiveness. This would be reserved for characters she thinks of as 'cool' or 'incredible'.

However! The ability is limited to her perception of how things should work, so a real person with actual skills… say Zoro… would be able to overpower a Dracule Mihawk-based Inkling through actually knowing how to fight properly (since Laine's experience with swordsmanship is solely from an observational angle and basic common sense), even if that Inkling is as fast and strong as Laine perceives Mihawk as being. The physics of certain powers was another drawback I was thinking about, but honestly, it's One Piece. Fuck physics!... but some powers would still be nerfed. No psychic powers other than what Laine develops/possesses herself, no abilities that would be exclusive to Devil Fruits, etc.

A drawing of a person would not come with all the knowledge that person has – only that which Laine has herself or can logic out from what she has – but, if Laine is familiar with their personality and how they would act, the Inkling would play to that. So an Inkling of Robin would have a similar sense of humor and way of acting, but would be unable to read Poneglyphs. This power could prove detrimental if she were to put an Inkling based on a real (or fictional) person in a situation that her internal 'logic' would deem too out-of-character to even imagine (ex: Doflamingo bodily protecting anyone). This is more of a mental block rather than a legitimate weakness associated with the Sketch Sketch fruit.

As to the exact number of Inklings Laine would be able to summon at one time… it depends on what she's doing. If she's trying to complete a complex task (breaking a safe, running away from / to something in a city with a complicated layout) herself, five to seven Inklings would be around her max, since their 'minds' are linked to her subconscious. If she's trying to complete a simple task (drawing, carrying something from one area to another, carrying on a simple conversation), it would be around ten or twelve.

But, at maximum, with no threats to her main body and given the chance to meditate / really concentrate, she could coordinate about twenty to twenty-five Inklings without difficulty.

Her Inklings are not properly sentient, but she can 'reposition' them in her focus, meaning that they can switch from 'semi-autonomous' to 'under her direct control'. Which can leave her real body unattended, a reason not to do that until she gets a better grip on her powers (and the experience of having two POVs at the same time).

On a related note, some of Laine's own personality stands a chance of leaking out of her Inklings if the situation that they're in is one that she would react strongly to herself to the point of 'breaking character'. This happened in chapter one with her little robot disintegrating into gibberish at the sudden attention.

This is all pre-Time Skip calculations (though at about Enies Lobby power levels) of course, so she's not quite there yet and there's room to grow at later points in the story, though most of that would just be heightening her skill level rather than becoming a more physical threat.

If 'killed' or if Laine is indisposed (via salt water, seastone, or total unconsciousness (same rules as Moriah and the removed shadows)), Inklings tend to explode into black ink (graphite dust, or paint, depending on the medium used, but she favors inks) which is very difficult to remove and slippery. However, there are exceptions (Gin) where if an Inkling was pressed very hard into a person's skin (usually with the command of 'don't let go' in place) and Laine is indisposed, it becomes a tattoo that she has no power over (since the Inkling counts as 'dead').

Inklings have approximately the same durability as Naruto's shadow clones (e.i. able to give a solid hit, but unable to take a significant amount / lethal amounts of damage without bursting), but as mentioned earlier, willpower and perception can affect these limits (as can lacing the Inklings with Armament Haki, but she doesn't have that yet). This can be evidenced in the deleted scene with the Fisher Tiger Inkling, since Laine has an unshakable belief in his durability and a lot of emotional 'harmonization' with the drawing.

She hasn't thought about putting tattoos on people deliberately (between ethics and just the general chaos she's been caught up in sense), but in that case, she would have a degree of awareness and control (if the person with the tattoo didn't destabilize her connection with Armament Haki) and would be able to summon an Inkling from said tattoo. This, however, would require more effort and energy (because the person wearing said tattoo has their own ideas and feelings about it) than just bringing something out of her sketchbook to life.

Laine would not be able to remove existing tattoos or use other people's artwork, because they're not her own creations. It's a nerf, but considering how broken the power could be if not handicapped in various ways, I'd say it's a fair one.

What exactly the Sketch Sketch fruit would be capable of if 'Awakened' is… well, I've had ideas, to say the least. Let's say 'reality breaking' on par with Doflamingo's bullshitery would be entirely within reason.

* * *

 

**LAINE AND HAKI**

Observational Haki. Some people have said that it's too soon for someone to have such an ability in the story. Well, think about this.

Aisa was born with it, as was Queen Otohime. This particular kind Haki has also been known to manifest in periods of high stress (Coby – Marineford, Usopp – Dressrosa). It can also be deliberately developed (Luffy), but that's a different essay.

Laine is a person with anxiety (meaning she's already hyper aware of everything going on around her because _what if_ ) thrust into a strange environment with no resources and barely anything resembling a comfort zone. She was without food long enough to make what eating what she probably knew for a fact was a Devil Fruit (which has never been noted as being a pleasant experience) a reasonable course of action, despite the fact that she has a few hang-ups involving food and _just about everything else_ that I haven't fully touched on yet. She is the frailest and weakest member of the crew (Usopp has taken terrible hits that would kill Laine easily and outside of her Devil Fruit powers, Laine has no real combat skills outside of childhood brawling, abuse, and basic self-defense theory, which place both Nami and Usopp ahead of her).

If anything, Observational Haki is the easiest to acquire because all it really needs is either sensory overload or a need to see beyond ones limits (compared to the hard, very deliberate mind/body training that goes into Armament Haki and the one in ten million odds of being born with Conqueror's Haki).

So, with that Logic, I think it's fair to say that Laine could have (and has) activated Observational Haki and that it isn't overpowered to give a character who is (outside of a really not good for straight combat Devil Fruit) defenseless.

On another note, Observational Haki, while (relatively) easy to activate, requires training to actually make any use of. Yes, one might instinctively manage to use it in a combat situation (Usopp on Dressrosa), but one is more likely to get overloaded by information (Coby at Marineford) and end up in a near catatonic state.

Heck, Otohime and Aisa were born with the ability and mostly fell on the reading emotions side of the power, rather than the potential combat applications, because the first was a queen with an incredibly fragile body and the other was a freaking child.

(On a less scholarly note, when I was coming up with the concept for this story, the random number gods gave me both Observational and Armament Haki with a working understanding of both, so I decided to nerf it because full Haki control is OP as fuck until Marineford / the New World).

Laine still has the potential to unlock Armament early (it will require a significant trigger, so it probably won't happen until Alabasta / Skypeia), but it will take a lot of practice and a teacher to master it.

(The random number gods also gave Laine that suitcase full of money in chapter one which felt random as hell but nobody complained about that particular plot facilitator, so…)

* * *

 

**ONE FINAL NOTE**

I've been having problems with motivation lately, along with a bit of turmoil in my life. This, added to my rather minimal interest in One Piece as of late – as soon as my life settles a little I will be getting the dub edition of Thriller Bark so that might bring it back a bit –, will likely result in this fic being even slower to update than normal. Other projects might continue forward, but that doesn't mean that I'm thinking of abandoning this story.

If I do abandon this story, I apologize. I do not like disappointing people, but it will likely only happen if I cannot see a way of moving forward.


	9. Chapter 9

I wanted to combust.

Let it be once again established that, while personal injury is kind of a 'I'd rather not do that' manner of event for me, socializing is on the 'I would literally would opt for death over this, just set me on fire and take me to the morgue' level.

Yet here I was, ribs taped tight as I tried – un-fucking-successfully – to avoid people. You'd think that a massive party would attract people to noise and lights and food, but no. There was always that one 'well-wisher' that would appear the moment I'd finally thought I'd relaxed enough to not consider my existence a disaster.

And, because the standard reaction is 'oh, what are you doing there?', I can't even go to scribbling in my sketchbook.

So, yeah. The joy of being me.

Thankfully, the night hours of the party were… better, because that's when the 'stand around with a drink and chat' behavior completely dropped out as even the most boring types decided that 'shit-faced' was the way to be or went the reasonable, boring route back home to bed.

All fair choices, I suppose.

I sighed and leaned back against wall of the alley I was lurking in. A whole day of almost straight partying and I was still thinking about Arlong Park.

'Useless' was the main thought. 'Weak' was secondary, almost tertiary to that.

What had I achieved? Besides a cadre of bruised and cracked ribs and some raw – now only tender – palms, very little. Playing meat-shield required little skill, as did throwing ink at someone's face. Said ink turning out to be flammable was a happy coincidence that managed to pay off in my favor, but in the end, it was a pure fluke.

So what had I managed?

I sighed, turning a pen over and over in my hands, fingers twisting around the enamel stem. Even if no-one had tried to talk to me in the last three hours, I didn't want to risk breaking the streak by doing something interesting.

"Still here?"

I looked up at Zoro. The swordsman had gotten stitched up properly on the first day and his only concession to rest had been a permutation of his usual pattern; sit around, drink, and nap. Judging by the smooth line of his shirt, wearing bandages hadn't been part of the program.

"Where else would I be?" I muttered, looking away. I've never been good at sustained eye contact.

"Well, considering that I haven't seen you within ten feet of the party today, I'd say in bed or on the next boat home," Zoro said as he sat down heavily – was he still hurt or could Roronoa Zoro just not give a shit about grace outside of battle – across from me. "And since you aren't doing either of those, that leaves–"

"Luffy," I said as Zoro did.

The swordsman nodded, as if that explained everything – honestly, it did – before taking a pull from the bottle in his hand. He had an odd way of holding things, I noticed; a loose grip that allowed whatever he was holding to adhere to gravity but also stay securely in his hand.

Maybe it was a swordsman thing, where you kept the option alter your stance to whatever you needed until you committed to a course of action.

"So he got you to join after all," Zoro said. "Hope you can do better than that robot from the restaurant…"

Fuck you! "I got startled!"

"Uh-huh. You know that if you take up piracy, you're going to get startled by things a lot worse than a chain-smoking wannabe Casanova cook, right?"

Since getting tangled up with you guys, I've been drowned, beaten, and almost poisoned. Those count as startling, but I didn't fucking let them stop me for long. It's not like I hadn't done it all before back at home, after all.

I'm just not used to people.

Zoro raises an eyebrow at my steely expression. "You know that a pirate flirts with death on a daily basis. If you can't even survive a party…"

"I might be a bug on your radar, swordsbeast, but my dad didn't compare me to a cockroach for nothing," I snipe back, "I've survived everything life has thrown at me so far – and that's been a fucking lot, just so you know – and I'm going to keep doing exactly that until I finally drop dead."

Aw, he looked slightly impressed by that. Slightly. Like maybe a whole iota of respect.

"But you still can't survive a party," he added, ruining the mood.

You bitch.

I held up my index finger. "I don't like crowds. I don't like being the center of attention. Because if you fuck up one time –" I snapped my fingers quickly, a physical demonstration of how quick I was talking. "– they will tear you into little bit-sized bits for their own amusement."

Zoro frowned. "The hell kind of place did you come from?"

I snorted, flipping open my sketchbook. What can I say? I'm accustomed to an atmosphere of Bitch. Most of the people I've ever been friends with have been great carriers of the Bitch ambiance. "Oh, a perfectly ordinary small town where if you aren't part of the herd or something acceptably out of the ordinary, you're scrap."

My pen traced smooth, sure lines. Straight and strong. I wasn't sure where it was going yet, but the movement was soothing all the same.

"Why do you want to be a pirate anyway?"  
I paused before letting my pen start moving again. The drawing was beginning to build into a humanlike shape that I strongly suspected would end up being Zoro, captured in the middle of a three-sword sweep.

"Freedom, I guess. Getting to see the things that lay beyond the horizon."

My eyes flicked to the side as I referenced Zoro directly, rather from memory. Yes, the drawing would be a good likeness, all power and directness, all wrapped up in the poetry of motion that I'd come to associate with skill.

"No grand ambition? Not interested in being 'the greatest artist in the world'?"

"Beauty is beyond empirical measure and entirely dependent on the beholder," I said automatically before my tone relaxed into something less robotic. "That's why I think that 'the world's most beautiful woman' title is a load of crock. Sure, there are certain traits that experience a near universal appeal, but nobody is going to agree on the details or the execution and there's always going to be some weirdo on the outside whose concept of beauty is completely at odds with the popular definition."

Silence, save for the scratch of pen on paper.

"You've had this conversation before," Zoro said.

"Mostly about my drawings being ugly or creepy."

"Are they?"

"Again, it's in the eye of the beholder. I've personally got a low estimation of cookie-cutter pop culture that exists without creative thought in mindless imitation of a bland standard. As for creepy…" I thought about it. "Well, some of them straddle the line. I've seen creepier."

Usually on the porn side of things, but there were other exceptions.

"Like what?"

Oh-ho no, do not open that box. "Let's leave it at 'I don't want to talk about it, much less think about the pictures in question and there isn't enough bleach in the universe to clean my brain'," I said as I hatched and cross-hatched shadows across the drawn Zoro's body. It added weight, a certain three dimensionality that I'd probably only be able to surpass by using my power on it or, god forbid, actually adding color.

The swordsman cringed, as if thinking about some images he'd like bleached from his own memory.

"Do I want to ask what you're drawing now?"

"Depends on what you're ready to behold."

Zoro narrowed his eyes at me before giving a weary exhale. "Fuck it. I'm not going to be cowed by a piece of paper. Hit me."

I turned my sketchbook around and the expression changed from 'braced' to 'surprised'.

I would have rated it as a fair drawing, good for the fact that I'd maybe spent five to fifteen minutes max on it. Art was easier when it flowed and this drawing had come to me as smoothly as the transition between Zoro's attacks.

"…huh."

Thanks for the feedback, buddy.

"What did you think I'd be drawing?" I asked.

"I don't know," Zoro answered, "Cartoons or something. Haven't seen you really do anything but that robot and some birds." He tilted his head to the side. "Pretty good likeness. Stance isn't bad either."

"Thanks." I shrugged as I put the sketchbook down, leaving the drawing exposed to the air – it needed to dry before I put it away, otherwise I risked ruining it via smear – and pulled out a different sketchbook. "I don't like the idea of abusing someone's image without permission. It makes me uncomfortable and, even if that wasn't an issue, too many people would be all too willing to kill me for the sleight."

Never mind that I'd damn well thought about it twelve hours ago.

"Fair enough."

* * *

Zoro wandered off not long after that, in search of food, booze, company, or a better place to nap, I don't know.

But I wasn't alone. Because as soon as that mop of mossy green left, orange-red hair as bright as the sunset replaced it.

"So you're the new kid," Nami said.

Who's at least four years older than you. "Yep."

"Devil Fruit?"

She would have had to have been blind to miss it. "Yep."

"Crazy?"

Depression, anxiety… really there was a laundry list. "Probably."

"Typical," Nami sighed before sticking out her hand. Not the one she'd stabbed before the Arlong debacle – that one was by her side and well-bandaged – but her good one. Her primary, if the slight spatter of ink on her wrist and fingers was any indication. "I'm Nami, navigator, cartographer, and thief."

I shook her hand limply, not overly concerned when she immediately ended the handshake as soon as the obligatory 'one-two' was done. Many in the past had compared the experience to shaking hands with a latex glove filled with soggy noodles. I'd never enjoyed the contact either, though my issues were rooted more in personal history rather than straight disgust. "Laine. Artist. Scribbler. General disappointment."

Silence.

"So you're an artist."

That was probably the best response to my not-so-comedic self-depreciation act I'd gotten yet. "Yep."

Brown eyes crawled over to the picture of Zoro, still exposed to the air. "Huh. Have you drawn me?"

"No," I could feel Nami frown, even before I lifted my own eyes to meet hers. Haki or an acute understanding of disappointment? "I didn't feel up to invoking a debt just yet."

The frown was replaced by a smirk as her pose shifted from a neutral sitting position to something more evocative of a smug cat. "Good."

My pen scratched in the dark as my mind scrambled for something to say. Small talk was never my forte, really. 'How's the shoulder?', 'how are you doing?'… too personal. How are you enjoying the party? Hell no. Asking about the weather would be double stupid.

The silence stretched uncomfortably.

"You're not really swift at this people stuff, are you?" Nami asked, though it was more a statement of fact than a question.

"I'm better when I can wheedle in some smartass remarks," I admitted. It was a coping mechanism and a cheat, because 'charming' and 'funny' were relatively easy masks to slip into socially… at least when you had material.

Barring that, I had nothing. And in the wake of Arlong, I didn't much feel like trying my luck with 'smartass'.

"You don't have to handle me with kid gloves, you know. I'm a big girl."

You're a teenage girl who's spent almost half of her life a slave. You don't deserve any more shit.

I sigh, ceasing my scratch work. "How's the shoulder?"  
Nami blinked. "It's fine."

"Mmm. How's the tattoo removal going?"

She winced. "Less fine," she admitted, rubbing her heavily bandaged shoulder. Old big tattoo, touched up several times over. I could imagine. "But if I cover it up, it'll be like it wasn't there at all."

A common solution, though I knew that tribal style designs – like Arlong's emblem – were notoriously difficult alters. And the negative associations she probably had with going under the needle wouldn't make the process any easier.  
My pen continued scratching, mapping out the longitudes and latitudes of an imaginary landmass. I dedicated more attention to the compass rose in the corner, giving it as much detail as I could under moonlight without use of a desk or tools.

Maybe I'd get some tattoos. I was a pirate after all, and there was no reason why I couldn't use my powers to do it… wait.

My eyes flicked up to meet Nami's.

"You know… with my power, I can do tattoos pretty quick –" I lifted a hand and waggled it side to side. The universal 'so-so' gesture, "– but I've been informed that it's painful."

"On a scale of one to ten?"

"As told by a career scrapper and lifelong stray dog, 'not the worst I've had'. So y'know, grain of salt," I said. "But it's quick, clean, and doesn't involve needles."

She hmmed. "Let me think about it. Between you and Doctor Nako, I'm more inclined…"

"…to go with the professional," I finished with her. I shrugged, my face disappearing between the brim of my hat and my scarf. "Fair enough. I'd do the same in your position."

When I looked back up again, she was gone. Melded back into the celebrating crowd or vanished into the back alleys, I didn't know. It matched what I knew of the redhead personally.

She was easy to predict when there was a goal in mind and, most of the time, she had one. Revenge, rescue, money… all had patterns that could be followed.

Any answer could work when her aim was unknown. I wasn't even sure she knew what she was thinking herself. Her entire world had shifted on its axis and what had driven her for the last eight years was no longer an object. She needed to reorient and choose a new guiding star.

I turned the page, letting the cheap sketch disappear into the back of the sketchbook.

 

Odds were that star was going to be called 'Monkey D. Luffy and his crazy stupid charisma', but I never gambled on anything being an absolute certainty. Not in this life and not in the last. The only difference was that in the last life, it was called 'paranoid', while here it was called 'common sense'.

Never assume that you know everything about something unless you're holding it in your hands and even then, don't. Possession does not confer mastery unless you are holding an enchanted – or, more likely, cursed – weapon and even then, there are bound to be things that both it and you don't know.

That was kind of the rule for Devil Fruits too. You had a weapon, a one-of-a-kind power that could be used to turn a tiny corner of the world upside down… and most people who had one would figure out one trick and then go 'ah, well, I guess that's it'.

Some powers seemed tailor made for that.

Chop-Chop Fruit; ah, you're sword-proof. Enjoy.

Paw Paw Fruit, you're really good at pushing shit now.

He's made of rubber, how did that happen? Yo ho ho, he took a bite of Gum Gum.

String-String Fruit, puppeteering the world since 1996.

Buggy took that 'sword-proof' and turned it into concealed weapons, ranged attacks, and flight.

Kuma could send you around the world in three days and push metaphysical concepts around.

Luffy had ranged attacks, super-durability, super-speed, cardiovascular manipulation, and the ability to become half of a giant for about a two minutes tops and that was excluding anything involving Haki.

And Dofla-fucking-mingo was the most broken Paramecia to ever suck oxygen.

Devil Fruits were only as weak as your ability to use them. You had the lever and the fulcrum; you just needed to learn how to apply it.

My pen scratched at the paper, leaving a line of tight scribbles behind it that could have been mistaken for a seismograph. Now, what were my applications?

Mooks. Recon. Meat… well, inkshields. Those were the obvious ones.

Counterfeiting? No, didn't seem worth the risk and piracy overrode that possibility in both areas of illegality and immediate profit.

Armor? Mr. 3 had done it… but his wax was explicitly super-durable. Unless I could get more out of my ink than I had in the last two battles I'd been involved in, it would be a pointless addition to my skillset.

Unless I could make an Evangelion to scale. Hell, even half scale would be good. The problem of breathing was an issue, but the idea otherwise felt solid. You could break it, yes, but the torrent of black liquid shit everywhere would be a decent revenge and the chances of hitting my actual body… well, I wouldn't wager against Haki users or a sufficiently pissed giant, but the point remained.

If I was going to go big, I could also attempt ultramooks. Transport, also. And on the other side of the board…

I pulled up my sleeve and looked down at my wrist. Pale, almost white under the moonlight, and largely unmarked.

My pen twisted through my fingers out of habit, settling into a better grip than what I had before.

There was a fair chance this was going to be unpleasant. Scratch that. I was entirely certain this was going to suck.

I pressed the nub of my pen down, feeling the chill black ink soaking into the creases of my skin and the sharp point of the nib.

Nothing ventured, nothing gained.

* * *

I'm a fucking idiot.

No, I mean it. If stupid was a contest, I'd be a real prize winner. Blue ribbons and gold trophies all the way.

Because I'm the dumbass who decided that, instead of using her powers to transfer a picture from her sketchbook to her skin – which has already been confirmed as possible –, she needed to draw on herself, with a pen that happens to look a hell of a lot like a scalpel, in the middle of a party where she's one of the heroes of the day and there's a handful of idiots who know her personally in attendance.

Long story short, because Sanji has all the impulse control of Johnny Bravo in the middle of a bikini convention and the white knight tendencies of fucking Galahad and I'm – repeating it once again for those in the back – a fucking dumbass, I have stabbed myself with a pen loaded with ink that is probably toxic.

Which means that I am now in a hospital – okay, the tiny clinic that has like ten beds that counts as a hospital so far as Cocoyashi is concerned – with one blond idiot hovering over me and crying like he's five fucking years old and not an adult who chain-smokes, cusses constantly, and can kick through a wall without thinking about it.

Jesus Horatio Christ.

"I'm not fucking suicidal, you fuckwit. I was just trying something," I snapped again as Sanji tries to impart the importance of life as far as pretty girls are concerned. I'm not pretty, but that's not the point.

"Stabbing yourself with a pen doesn't exactly impart confidence," Doctor Nako said as he checked over a chemistry set. The good thing about using dip pens is that, even though my homebrew ink is definitely not something you want inside of you, the pen can't carry nearly enough to fuck you up, unless you injected it directly into your veins with proper equipment.

Which a dip pen is most definitely not.

"Was trying to give myself a tattoo."

Nako raised a bushy eyebrow over his dark sunglasses.

"Devil Fruit powers," I growled. "I'm not a fucking idiot."

Lies. Lies. Liiiiieeeeees.

The doctor seemed to pick up on my inner commentary as he finished binding up the bandage around my wrist and waved his hand in the universal gesture of 'if you say so'. "Well, next time, find a way to do it without stabbing yourself, because I wouldn't count on missing all the important bits a second time."

Advice taken. Now fuck off and let me get on with the inner self-flagellation parade in peace.

"Why would you do that?" Sanji asked as the doctor walked away.

I turned over my wrist, trying to get used to the feeling of bandages. I didn't even like wearing jewelry, because the weight and sensory input threw me off so much. This would be a nightmare, and one that I had no choice about my participation in.

"Devil Fruit powers aren't like combat skills. You can't make them stronger," I said. I wasn't a hundred percent on that fact, but it might as well have been a certainty. "You can only get better at using them. For Luffy, that means learning new ways to be flexible. More efficient ways of punching and moving. Me, it means…"

Hiding. Sneaking. Finding new ways to cheat.

"Art. I'm dependent on my canvas and the one canvas that nobody can take away from me is my skin. So I need to use it. Probably without putting holes in it."

"Laine…" Sanji said quietly. "You don't have to…"

"Sanji, I'm not…" I swallowed. "I'm not strong. I'm not fast. I can't take a hit. So if I can't fight harder, I have to fight smarter. I can't afford not to use every resource I can."

Except for the places I won't go.

"You could just let me protect you…"

"Hah. And be deadweight? Useless for anything more than being a decorative paperweight?" I laughed quietly, no humor in my voice. "We're pirates, Sanji. Deadweight gets dumped when the seas get rough. We can't afford to be weak. Not where we're going."

And I'm the weakest here. I had no doubt that my body would never be able to work at the levels that even Usopp could manage. Too much stress damage, too many old breaks.

Maybe it would just be better to leave before I got someone killed.

_I found another person for our crew!_

I sighed as I shoved the negative thoughts to the back of my mind. Well, all the more reason to start level grinding, I guess. "Wonder how long this is going to take to heal…"

"A week, if you – don't – mess – with – it!" Nako yelled from the end of the room, where a certain green-haired swordsman was half out of the window, stopped by the doctor hanging onto his legs.

"I'm not wearing these bandages!"

"You'll wear them if you know what's good for you!"

"I can't move in them!"

"THAT'S THE POINT, YOU IDIOT!" everyone yelled.

I laughed as Sanji bolted over to pull the wayward swordsman out of the window, both of them cursing and spitting the whole while.

Yeah, friends were good.

* * *

It was three more days before we decided to hit the horizon. Three more days of partying, and though it did wind down as the initial rush of 'the horrible fish overlord is gone' faded from whirling ecstasy to a more stable form of happiness, I had made a point to avoid the festivities… though I didn't wander far from the village.

I might not be sitting at Roronoa Zoro levels of directional incompetence, but having a very bad memory for names and numbers, I had to learn relative locations, distinctive landmarks, and physical distances. Inconvenient even at the best of times, it wasn't going to work very well when we spent a week or two tops on any given island.

Still, I got my fill of company. Mostly members of the crew, but that was fine. They were going to be my primary circle of interaction for the next… how many years? Duration was vague in manga, and travel times sometimes entirely omitted, but going from East Blue to Raftel was going to take a while.

Today was the day of loading, where we – well, mostly the other crew, though I made my own pathetic attempts to keep up with Zoro – packed the Merry full of the essentials. Food, mostly, but booze, water, and other vital fluids were tucked away into their respective areas.

I had tried to keep up with Zoro during the loading process, as both a method of pulling my weight and getting a bit of weight training in, but like most competitions between toads and oxen, the smaller party – you guessed it; me – was about ready to explode from the effort of overextension.

Well, actually my back was about ready to give out for the second time in my life, but the pain of trying to force past it was definitely 'explosive'. At least I was physically actually getting somewhere, because otherwise this entire exercise would just be motivation to cry.

I wheezed as I put down the box on the deck, drawing a glance from Usopp.

"You're really out of shape, aren't you?"

If I wasn't relying on this box to keep me from collapsing onto the deck, I'd smack him a good one. But then, if I was capable of standing, he probably wouldn't have made the comment.

I bared my teeth in what might have been a challenging grin if I didn't look about three steps away from 'corpse'. "Why… do you think… I'm doing this?"

Usopp held up his hands in the universal gesture of 'hey, don't murder me for saying so'. "Not that I have anything against working out –"

Zoro snorted, putting down the two massive barrels that he'd been carrying under his arms.

"– but killing yourself doing it seems kind of counterproductive. And a little bit crazy."

My eyes and smile widened into something I knew wasn't comforting to behold. "And who told you I wasn't?"

I pushed myself up to my feet, feeling much better for the breather. Poorly designed piece of crap my body was – what with the bad back, the joints constantly popping in and out of whack, and a thousand other hiccups that counted against both efficiency and comfort –, it did have the advantage of a quick recharge time.

I spun around on my heel, ignoring the small wobble in my step as I went down the gangplank for another crate.

I would probably never be able to match pace with Zoro. Hell, I didn't even want to think about trying to touch his weight class. But using him as a meter stick gave my inner lunatic something to chase after.  
If I could do anything half as well as Zoro – here being picking up stuff and moving it –, that would put me above a lot of the people we were up against.

Plus, it was fairly easy to adopt his training method. Find a heavy thing, pick it up. Have a practice sword, hit a thing with it. Repeat until you need to kick it up to the next level to get any discernable result. Wasn't like I hadn't tried it as a kid. Except back then it was a garbage bag filled with straw strung up in an old cherry tree and a wooden sword made out of an old fencepost.

Then, it was out of some misplaced desire to express myself in a way that didn't involve a screaming match after. Now, it was to keep myself as far away from useless as possible.

Though if I fucked up and crippled myself for life, I'd be sitting pretty in the 'useless' category all by myself.

Happy thoughts now.

I picked up the crate, ignoring the protesting pull in my muscles. I'd be exhausted later and that was perfectly fine. It was the one reliable – well, semi-reliable – way to power past my insomnia without going to sleep at one in the morning.

Though I'd have to figure out the Merry's shower. And bathroom. And where I'd be sleeping. Probably in the girl's bedroom, since I am distinctly of the female persuasion. Sharing an enclosed space with Nami. Oh god. What if my step-mom was right and I really do snore.

What were the odds of Nami smothering me in my sleep?

Okay, I didn't need this kind of stress just yet. Inner panic goblin; kindly remove your sweaty little hands from the intercom and let me just focus on the fucking crate and moving it from Point A to Point B. We can learn about sharing personal space with other human beings later.

Preferably without anyone – let's be honest here, I mean me – getting murdered.

Always ideal, non-murdery evenings are.

"Would've thought Nami would be here by now," Sanji muttered behind a cigarette as he checked the rigging.

"She'll be here," Luffy said again, his voice one hundred percent certain and five hundred percent done with Sanji's fairly consistent bitching about the absence of attractive female life on deck.

It was probably the fifth time this particular exchange had passed between the two – at the very least, the fifth time I'd caught it – and, if the idiot shonen hero was getting annoyed with you, you had looped the conversation too many times.

"Well, we've got everything packed up," Zoro said, even as he took the last crate out of my hands to shove into the appropriate spot. "So we're clear to set sail whenever, weather witch or no."

"WHAT?"  
Damn Sanji could hit the high notes when he freaked out. "She's got free will; she can decide not to come if she wants to," Usopp said.

"But if she doesn't come, that's like sixty-eight point seven five percent of my motivation to be on this crew going up in smoke!" the cook screeched.

"Your kind and generous nature is too great for words, Sanji," I deadpanned.

"Don't worry Laine, you're the other thirty percent," he assured me.

"Not as comforting a statement as you seem to think it is."

I hope to god he's joking, because a man being that fixated on women – not even specific women, but the very concept of the female sex – was a terrifying concept, even if he was a teenager. Hell, I wasn't even certain on that point, since my memory couldn't even settle on if he was eighteen or twenty.

Maybe that was the reason I'd stopped reading the manga. The character's personalities had come to orbit their worst quirks and the action had just stretched and stretched until it felt like visiting Namek again, except with more distinct geography to look at in between the punches.

Luffy tensed on the rope netting of the rigging. "She's here!"

"SET THE SAILS!"

Ah, so she's coming.

Like she wouldn't.

"Why is she running?"

I smiled.

Even if she ended up smothering me for talking in my sleep or some other nocturnal misdeed, to see Nami running at full tilt towards us through the crowd… it was rare.

Precious.

"You heard her," Luffy said, "set the sails."

Everyone except me started moving, pulling on ropes. Zoro himself pulled the anchor – not even remotely similar to the concrete filled milk jugs my grandfather had used – from the sea and up into its usual place.

"SHE'S GOING TO LEAVE WITHOUT A GOODBYE?" Genzo yelled from below. Ah, yes, the might-as-well-be-Nami's-dad, that is exactly what she's going to do. In style, no less.

Nami… flowed through the crowd, almost as fluidly as Kami-E. Though I knew that she was picking every pocket around her, I couldn't actually catch the action more than once.

She reached the edge of the deck, stepping between Genzo and Nojiko, and jumped.

That wasn't the show though.

Nami braced herself, slowly raising the hem of her suspiciously baggy t-shirt… and a literal flood of wallets spilled out onto the deck.

I started choking on laughter at the wave of gasps from the shore.

"Thief!"

"Pickpocket!"

"Pirate," Nami corrected as she lifted a hundred beri note to her lips and kissed it. "And take care of yourselves, alright?"

The laughter finally spilled out completely as I fell to the deck into a storm of giggle-snorts and exhaustion. Yeah, she got you all. One last parting shot to secure her in your memories as yet another village twister, gone to tear up the world at large.

* * *

"So," Nami said as soon as she got me cornered in her… well, our room, "we're going to be bunking together."

She was smiling. I was trying not to look like a deer in the headlights.

"Yeah."  
Help. Usopp. Sea King. Warlord. Anybody.

"It's kind of nice, getting to be around another girl," she continued.

"I… guess?"

I don't know how to braid hair, paint nails, wear heels, or shave my own legs without losing a square inch of skin. As far as girl stuff goes, I'm an honorary member of the species.

"You mind sharing the same bed? There's only one."

Heheheheeheehahahahahahah oh fuck. I've only done this once before and sharing a bed with Sarah at age ten was just as awkward as this conversation.

I'd be concerned about my own headcanon's about Nami's sexuality – bi or lesbian, because not a single piece of manflesh had even gotten her attention in my memory – except that people, including Nami, were subject to standards.

Plus, skinship was a thing in cultures that weren't so virulently anti-touch as Western Civilization.

"I guess… I'll have to get used to it?"

Or get a sleeping bag so I can kip out on the floor, because that sofa was definitely not compatible with my 'move-around-constantly-in-my-sleep' disease.

"There are also some hammocks that store up in the ceiling, but I think the bed's more comfortable."

"I'll go with the hammock," I answer quickly. "You don't need to inconvenience yourself on my account."

Bullet… dodged.

"How do you want to split the closet?" Nami asked as she wandered around the way too tiny room. "It's fairly spacious, but y'know how things get after a good shopping trip…"

Sister, I am wearing the only clothes I own right now and I've been a second-hand hand-me-down kid since I was born. I have no concept of what you are trying to communicate right now and that terrifies me.

"I… don't really have that much stuff?"

She turned around with an expression on her face that was at least fifty percent disgust. "You are least have another change of clothes?"

Oh fuckle. "Ah, no. This is it."

"What were you before you became a pirate, homeless?"

This was probably a bad time to be avoiding eye contact and tangling my fingers together in new and uncomfortable configurations, but here I was, doing exactly that. "Well, yes, technically. Turns out Loguetown doesn't permit panhandling. Or operating a business without a license... Or loitering."

Nami seemed to deflate. "You have literally nothing but what's on you right now?" she asked, with the words 'and I'm now responsible for the mess you call your life?' lurking somewhere behind the first question.

"Pants, shoes, shirt, jacket, hat, scarf, five large sketchbooks, seven small sketchbooks, three books of tracing paper, approximately seventy-five million pens and pencils, watercolors, inks…" Nami had almost sunken all the way to the floor at this point. "Oh, and about four hundred and ninety thousand beri."

I don't think I've ever seen anyone go from 'shucking off this mortal coil in despair' to 'vibrant, let's blow all your fucking money on Kit-Kats and Skittles life' in three point five seconds, but Nami apparently exists to break those kinds of records. She has my limp noodle hands firmly grasped in her own – this time without the reject reflex – and she is probably an inch and a half from exploring my tonsils with her tongue.

"Four hundred and ninety thousand beri?"

Her eyes are literally sparkling.

"G-give or take a few hundred. It's been a busy week."

Nami hugs me hard enough to make my spine crack in seven different places.

She doesn't ask me where I got it, but I think I've just been adopted by the scariest woman on the planet.

I'm at least four years older than her.

And I'm scared.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ai, this was a long time coming, but it's a breather chapter - well, action-wise. Anxiety doesn't lend itself to parties, especially not parties on the scale of what the Straw Hat Pirates usually do.
> 
> Anyway, new chapter, enjoy, hopefully the next one won't be so long in the coming.  
> EDIT - c2t2 pointed out something that I'd failed to catch the possible repercussions from when I first posted, so here's a correction (and technically a throwback to the first version i'd written of the interaction)

**Author's Note:**

> So I'm finally trying One Piece fic again (the first time I've posted any on AO3).  
> New character (more blatant self-insert type), with powers built using a Jumpchain and the powers of the random number gods.  
> Hopefully this will go well and you'll all enjoy it.


End file.
